Summer's Journal: Thirty-First Entry
Every Christmas Eve my dad disappears. Christmas Eve is a time where I cuddle up next to my mother, we share a hot tea, and enjoy a warm fire. We don’t say anything. My mom puts her arm around me, and holds me close to her, and she strokes my hair until I fall asleep.
Before one can understand anything else that goes on, one must first know how my parents grew up as far as Christmas is concerned. For the first seven years of her life, my mother grew up with Christmas being something special, a time when Santa Claus left a bunch of Presents for her. For the next fourteen she lived with my Great-Grandfather.
She had, by the time she was eleven had forgotten about Christmas. All she knew was that on December 25, she received a luxury item. One year, she received a makeup kit, the next she got a new eyebrow ring (yes my mother loves to wear eyebrow rings.)
She often wears that ring still. I find the need to mention it within my journal because my mother is a werewolf, and it was a silver eyebrow ring. To her, the pain it caused her was a form of numbing her to pain, and at the same times giving a message to other werewolves.
My father’s Christmas tradition consists of this absence on Christmas Eve. He never says where he is going and even when my mother and he were a young couple, who given the severe difference in their ages, many people didn’t think they would work out, he left her Christmas Eve for whatever he had to do.
She told me one Christmas Eve that when he left her those first few Christmas’ she felt abandoned, and she began to shut herself off, thinking he was keeping secrets from her. When she woke Christmas morning, she found him laying next to her, with his arm around her as if he wasn’t even there.
My dad was raised over fifteen-hundred-years before presents were customary. He was modern enough to understand the value of a present. So my mother received, like she did from her Grandfather something special. Not a luxery item, but something special.
I grew up knowing Santa Claus’ secret. I figured out how he accomplished his magic when I was five. Even before that time, I didn’t receive anything for Christmas. Now, that may seem cold, cruel, maybe even heartless. But in fact it wasn’t. I was raised to respect everything that had been given to me, and I didn’t get everything I wanted.
My father is a millionaire. My mother is a wealthy land-owner. Together their bank is somewhere near 96.3 Million. Their lands worth together equals double that total. If I wanted something he would give it to me.
As I’ve grown older, I’ve needed more things. One thing my parents do is buy all my clothes and my makeup. They buy my food, and they let me live in their house. My only luxury items I require are books, and my father enjoys those as much as I do. I have an internet connection only because we need one sometimes.
I don’t often ask for things. It’s not my nature, there is nothing I really ever need. But when I ask for something it is music. My father gets it for me. I never abuse that. At Christmas time, we don’t have a Christmas tree, we don’t have presents. We have three plainly wrapped gifts; one from my mother to my father, one from my father to my mother, and one from my father and mother to me.
We wake in the morning, we drink tea and we open our gifts. This year my father received a rare book, an Original Print of F. Scott Fitzgerald’s The Great Gatsby. My mother received new lingerie sent. I think my dad thought he was being cute. My mother looked deeper in the box and it revealed a single earring. It was Egyptian in make, and very, very old.
I turned for a moment while my parents frenched over their presents. I then slowly opened mine. The paper revealed a MP3 player. It was a compact little thing, and I was very happy. It had a Two Gigabyte hard drive and I have enough music to fill it.
I thanked them both with a kiss. I rushed upstairs and got on the computer, and uploaded all my songs onto it. By the time I was done it was around seven o’clock in the morning. We were due at my Aunt Page’s.
Aunt Page goes crazy over Christmas. She has a Christmas tree in every room, and she decorates her house, and she buys five presents for everyone. My father gets each person of their family a present. Brendan and I have made a habit of exchanging a gag gift every year.
He gets me some form of lingerie. Usually it is very revealing, and I blush and hide it, then he makes me show everyone. I however, am more cunning, I get him a necklace. Not a normal necklace an incrediably girly one, usually costume jewelry.
Lara my Aunt Page’s adopted daughter, is very old. But she is trapped in a young body, she says she was eight, but I think she was seven. She used to be called, ‘The Dagger’ she was an amazing vampiric assassin, she gets daggers. She also doesn’t understand Santa’s Magic, even after all these years. My Uncle Rapier gets swords. Aunt Page and Brendan both get a cornucopia of gifts from clothes to cds to movies to books.
Anything to help them blend better with modern day society that they so love.
By the end of present openings there is paper everywhere and Lara dives into it and throws it around. My aunt, mother, little Lara and myself all make a meal, while Brendan, Dad and Uncle Rapier all do clean up, and get to relax.
One year, I openly protested this sexist positioning. The next year, then men cooked and we got to relax. They tried, God bless them, but they failed and we all looked at each other and decided that never again would they be allowed in a kitchen. I think my father planned the ruined meal.
After Dinner we eat and we all sit around Aunt Page’s living room, and spend it together. That’s what Christmas is about to me.
But I will admit, I would miss the gag gift with Brendan if we every stopped doing Christmas like we do it.
It’s the Thursday After Christmas, and I am just now able t sit down and write, its been a nice week to sleep in. I haven’t heard from Chris.
Not even a Merry Christmas, which I think he would be into because of how much a sweet-heart he is. I wonder if he is okay.
-Dawn
Before one can understand anything else that goes on, one must first know how my parents grew up as far as Christmas is concerned. For the first seven years of her life, my mother grew up with Christmas being something special, a time when Santa Claus left a bunch of Presents for her. For the next fourteen she lived with my Great-Grandfather.
She had, by the time she was eleven had forgotten about Christmas. All she knew was that on December 25, she received a luxury item. One year, she received a makeup kit, the next she got a new eyebrow ring (yes my mother loves to wear eyebrow rings.)
She often wears that ring still. I find the need to mention it within my journal because my mother is a werewolf, and it was a silver eyebrow ring. To her, the pain it caused her was a form of numbing her to pain, and at the same times giving a message to other werewolves.
My father’s Christmas tradition consists of this absence on Christmas Eve. He never says where he is going and even when my mother and he were a young couple, who given the severe difference in their ages, many people didn’t think they would work out, he left her Christmas Eve for whatever he had to do.
She told me one Christmas Eve that when he left her those first few Christmas’ she felt abandoned, and she began to shut herself off, thinking he was keeping secrets from her. When she woke Christmas morning, she found him laying next to her, with his arm around her as if he wasn’t even there.
My dad was raised over fifteen-hundred-years before presents were customary. He was modern enough to understand the value of a present. So my mother received, like she did from her Grandfather something special. Not a luxery item, but something special.
I grew up knowing Santa Claus’ secret. I figured out how he accomplished his magic when I was five. Even before that time, I didn’t receive anything for Christmas. Now, that may seem cold, cruel, maybe even heartless. But in fact it wasn’t. I was raised to respect everything that had been given to me, and I didn’t get everything I wanted.
My father is a millionaire. My mother is a wealthy land-owner. Together their bank is somewhere near 96.3 Million. Their lands worth together equals double that total. If I wanted something he would give it to me.
As I’ve grown older, I’ve needed more things. One thing my parents do is buy all my clothes and my makeup. They buy my food, and they let me live in their house. My only luxury items I require are books, and my father enjoys those as much as I do. I have an internet connection only because we need one sometimes.
I don’t often ask for things. It’s not my nature, there is nothing I really ever need. But when I ask for something it is music. My father gets it for me. I never abuse that. At Christmas time, we don’t have a Christmas tree, we don’t have presents. We have three plainly wrapped gifts; one from my mother to my father, one from my father to my mother, and one from my father and mother to me.
We wake in the morning, we drink tea and we open our gifts. This year my father received a rare book, an Original Print of F. Scott Fitzgerald’s The Great Gatsby. My mother received new lingerie sent. I think my dad thought he was being cute. My mother looked deeper in the box and it revealed a single earring. It was Egyptian in make, and very, very old.
I turned for a moment while my parents frenched over their presents. I then slowly opened mine. The paper revealed a MP3 player. It was a compact little thing, and I was very happy. It had a Two Gigabyte hard drive and I have enough music to fill it.
I thanked them both with a kiss. I rushed upstairs and got on the computer, and uploaded all my songs onto it. By the time I was done it was around seven o’clock in the morning. We were due at my Aunt Page’s.
Aunt Page goes crazy over Christmas. She has a Christmas tree in every room, and she decorates her house, and she buys five presents for everyone. My father gets each person of their family a present. Brendan and I have made a habit of exchanging a gag gift every year.
He gets me some form of lingerie. Usually it is very revealing, and I blush and hide it, then he makes me show everyone. I however, am more cunning, I get him a necklace. Not a normal necklace an incrediably girly one, usually costume jewelry.
Lara my Aunt Page’s adopted daughter, is very old. But she is trapped in a young body, she says she was eight, but I think she was seven. She used to be called, ‘The Dagger’ she was an amazing vampiric assassin, she gets daggers. She also doesn’t understand Santa’s Magic, even after all these years. My Uncle Rapier gets swords. Aunt Page and Brendan both get a cornucopia of gifts from clothes to cds to movies to books.
Anything to help them blend better with modern day society that they so love.
By the end of present openings there is paper everywhere and Lara dives into it and throws it around. My aunt, mother, little Lara and myself all make a meal, while Brendan, Dad and Uncle Rapier all do clean up, and get to relax.
One year, I openly protested this sexist positioning. The next year, then men cooked and we got to relax. They tried, God bless them, but they failed and we all looked at each other and decided that never again would they be allowed in a kitchen. I think my father planned the ruined meal.
After Dinner we eat and we all sit around Aunt Page’s living room, and spend it together. That’s what Christmas is about to me.
But I will admit, I would miss the gag gift with Brendan if we every stopped doing Christmas like we do it.
It’s the Thursday After Christmas, and I am just now able t sit down and write, its been a nice week to sleep in. I haven’t heard from Chris.
Not even a Merry Christmas, which I think he would be into because of how much a sweet-heart he is. I wonder if he is okay.
-Dawn
posted by Summer Dawn O'Ciardha at 11:50 PM
3 Comments:
Found you through Captain Picard's blog - what a great read. I'll be back for more.
Your father disappears on Chrismas Eve? He doesn't put a red suit on, does he?
Isn't he a demon? He probably doesn't like Christmas all that much.
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