Our last Christmas together as a family was Christmas of 1986! There we were, all in the same place, same country, same town, same house; I think we may have all been in the same room at one point, a rarity in its own. We probably looked like the perfect family, the diplomat, his doting wife and their charming children. But we knew, and those who knew us knew, we were anything but that perfect family.

There was my father, who days before had tried to beat the crap out of my mother, brother and sister. What drove this soft-spoken-non-violence-advocate to this? There was my mother who felt so powerless and downtrodden she turned to the bottle for courage to face my father. My oldest brother, too selfish and self-involved to acknowledge we were screwed, was busy saving souls for his born-again group.

Paul, ‘the middle child’ (not technically a middle child!) who always felt lost, unloved and insignificant to my parents, burrowed deeper into himself while his insecurities and vulnerabilities grew. There was my sister, inadvertently becoming the mother, the adult and protector of all, including my mother. Having never been a child but too young to be seen otherwise, struggled through her naivety, immaturity as an instant-adult.

Then there was me! I understood what went on in my home; I knew we were unhappy, I cried every night my parents fought, when everyone was screaming around me, when mother and children turn on the father who decides to teach them a lesson by taking the belt to them! But you’d never think these things of me outside my home.

I was as perfect, as well behaved as can be, did well in school, had lots of friends, spent lots of time in their homes (maybe too much time) and was a cool kid because my parents let me do whatever! Maybe I was just as selfish as my brother to pretend my world wasn’t falling apart. I could say I was a child but what does that say about a child who learns from age 9 to keep up appearances?

Then there’s my youngest brother, my little baby brother who just knew that mothers were always sad and cried a lot and fathers had pained looks and were never around. He never experienced anything else! Bless his little heart.

That Christmas of ’86 when we came together for the last time, I didn’t know it’ll be our last. Some of us hoped it’ll be and it was.

~[m-w’s word of the day]~

PLAYING: The way you move - Outkast

READING: The song reader – Lisa Tucker

WATCHING: The Simple life

QUOTE: “But I know ya’ll wanted that 808 can you feel that B.A.S.S, bass”