Diaries I Read:
When I was little, my granddad was always a part of Christmas. Every year, he�d make the long trip from New York out to California to stay with us for at least a week or two. My granddad was pretty much synonymous with Christmas, at least in my mind. Christmas wouldn�t be Christmas without him.
I guess I don�t remember many specific details about the time he spent with us at Christmas. It�s more like a general theme, a common thread that runs through all of my Christmas memories. He was always there. He was just my granddad � a jolly, round man who always had a smile on his face for me. (In fact, I think he almost became an incarnation of Santa Claus to me.) He never once uttered a harsh word to me. The world with my granddad in it was filled with love.
Then, one year when I was about 11, he got married. It was all very mysterious to me. All I knew was that Granddad had married a woman named Rose. My mom said that if she makes him happy, then we all should be happy for him.
So that year when Granddad came for Christmas, he brought Rose. I remember looking forward to meeting this woman who my granddad had fallen in love with. I pictured a sweet little old lady with silver curls and an apron, who would bake cookies and knit blankets for me. I guess I was expecting Mrs. Claus.
When he showed up with Rose, those pictures in my head quickly disintegrated. Rose was not sweet. She was not pretty. She was a dumpy lady with mousy brown hair cut unattractively short, with a sneer on her face and a big mole on her upper lip. She had a nasally, harsh tone in her voice. I didn�t like her from the start.
I probably didn�t like her because she didn�t like me. It was clear � she didn�t like any of us. I think she was jealous of how much my granddad loved us. She was just unpleasant all the way around. I couldn�t imagine what my perfect grandfather saw in this ugly woman.
That was the last year he came out for Christmas, and it hasn�t been the same since. He sends my mom a good chunk of money every year to buy us Christmas presents from him, and the best gifts are always from Granddad. He calls us every Christmas morning and we thank him for our new camera or leather jacket or CD player. But it�s just not the same. It�s not like having him there. Talking to him on the phone is not like sitting in his lap or watching him do his crossword puzzles or laughing when he falls asleep in front of the TV and then claims he was just �checking his eyelids.�
Anyway, when my family was in New York a couple of weeks ago to visit him, he made a comment to my brother: �I hate Christmas.�
Apparently, my brother reacted with surprise and said, �What?! You hate Christmas?�
�Yes, I hate Christmas,� he repeated.
�Yeah, he�s ALWAYS hated Christmas!� piped up Rose, butting in as usual.
Well, this is something that cannot be. If my grandfather doesn�t like Christmas, then all of my happy childhood Christmas memories become warped. What am I supposed to do with all the joy that I felt, that I associated with him being there every Christmas? Where does his �I hate Christmas� fit in?
It doesn�t. It never will. I just don�t accept it. And I�m not just being stubborn here, either. There are two possible explanations for his statement:
1. He really does hate Christmas. Now. Ever since he got married, he hasn�t spent Christmas with us; he�s had to spend it with his ugly, nasty wife. So maybe she was telling the truth when she said that he�s always hated Christmas. Ever since she�s been around, he hasn�t gotten to spend it with us. He�s been alone. With her. Remembering how he used to spend the holiday with us. Knowing that we were on the other side of the country. I imagine that Christmas became a lonely time for him, a time when he missed his daughter and his grandkids. I�d hate Christmas too. OR�
2. He�s forgotten. He�s 80 years old. His health is failing. He just doesn�t remember how it used to be.
But he has NOT always hated Christmas. I refuse to believe that. Rose took my granddad away from me in a lot of ways. But she can�t take away my memories of him. She can�t put a damper on those years we had before she came along.
I think it must be a very sad thing to hate Christmas. I pray that he would remember those years like I do.
Working at home - Wednesday, Nov. 17, 2004
Toronto - Tuesday, Nov. 16, 2004
On the way to Toronto... - Tuesday, Nov. 09, 2004
A Good Day - Monday, Nov. 08, 2004
Another letter - Thursday, Nov. 04, 2004