diglydoyo

I was struck with an unpleasant feeling this Fourth of July. Standing outside my house that night, watching the neighbor’s fireworks, I felt a sense longing. Peaking down the street, I saw a family performing the traditional July 4th ritual. Standing out in the drive way, kids holding sparklers while the adults held beers. A dad kneeling down with a punk pointed at a cardboard tube just past the curb of the sidewalk. It’s been too long since I’ve done anything like that.

I think back to Easter this year. I hosted, and only my mom, step-dad, and brother showed up. My brother’s kids live out of state, and my step siblings were too pussy to do the extra driving it would take to get to my house. Contrast that to last year’s Easter. My cunt sister brought her two year old son. And that was a great time. She took him to the nearby park while my mother and I planted plastic eggs around the lawn, under plants, on top of car tires. And then we watched him explore and collect all the eggs. It was first Easter for me and my nephew, in a way. It was his first time being able to hunt for eggs, and it was my first time hiding eggs for someone else. It felt like small step into the adult world. I was satisfied that I had done a good job hiding the eggs in places that were just challenging enough for him. And it was fun to watch him find them. Much more fun than I would have had hunting for eggs myself.

Last year’s Christmas was immensely disappointing. I drove to my folks’ house.   Only my step-siblings and I made it. And you know what we did? We went to a restaurant. On Christmas day. We vindicated the Mexican waitress’s boss by coming in on the day of Savior’s birth, and ordering a burgers, nachos, and mountain dew. I think back to Christmas from middle school and before. Everyone would make it; siblings, grandparents, a family friend. We would gather at the dining table for a proper meal. I was still young enough to feel that snowy sense of avarice toward the pile of colorful boxes under tree. But I also remember watching my nieces and nephew rip into Hannah Montana guitars and nerf guns.

And this brings me to why I think holidays have been so flaccid lately. It’s due to the lack of small children in the family at present. Young children bring vitality to the family, because everything is new and exciting for them. And it’s exciting and fulfilling for the adults to give young children a good experience. Talk to any new parents, and they’ll often tell you that they don’t really get Christmas gifts for each other anymore. Because it’s better, and more enjoyable, to put the effort and resources into making sure your children have a good Christmas.

Obviously there isn’t an actionable solution to this, at least not in my family. My brother has already had his kids, and they’ve left the nest. My sister (who is a cunt) is denying that she even has a family. And I’m the youngest, and terminally single. And it would be unreasonable for me to just demand that you go out and have kids. The Machine makes that more difficult with every passing year. But let me put a grain of sand in the back of your mind, so it can agitate and grow in a pearl. When thinking about having kids, let yourself fantasize about a toddler stumbling across a grassy lawn, stooping down, and excitedly shaking a purple polka dot egg. Imagine your son eviscerating wrapping paper to unveil the toy that Santa said he wouldn’t be able to deliver. Envision your daughter running down the side walk on a July 4th night, her bare feet slapping against the sidewalk, waving a sparkler like there’s a big bug on the end of it. Gifting that experience to some else is more magical than when you had it yourself.