emsk

It’s been years since I paid much attention to Christmas. Insulated in my little world of family over the summer breaks, ensconced in the “We don’t do that” aura. And I never minded. Never thought about it, to be honest. If I did, it was shrouded in the general aura of “I need Change”, and it never really raised it’s head.

This year, I’m out in the wide world. And I have a boyfriend with me. And Christmas has been … odd.

I contemplated it. And 23 years of the reasons why we Don’t Do Christmas sat there poking me. It’s not a religious issue, any more, or it shouldn’t be. After all, it’s commonly acknowledged by most churches that yes, technically, Jesus wasn’t born at Christmas, but what the hell, we’ll celebrate it then anyway, OK? I never bought presents, in the end. And the job worries, and debts, and eventually rather than think about it, I just shelved the issue entirely. It can wait till next year, right?

Then Deb hosted her annual Waifs and Strays party. Boy and I certainly fit the bill – me, a waif, him, a stray. And I got home from work last night (yes, I worked on the 25th), collapsed on the couch.

“I don’t know if I want to go.”

“Why not, hon? I know you’re tired, but we both know you’ll enjoy the company once you get there.”

“Yeah, but…” (I feel like such a fraud!)

I’m glad we went. I had a good night, I caught up with folks I’ve not seen in awhile, I nibbled munchies and laughed and talked. I’m glad Deb does it – those of us without family available, or nearby, or those who wanted to escape the extended families – folks came by, and a good time was had. (Deb gave me a Wombles book. It’s adorable!)

But I still feel like I’m missing something. It’s not about religion. Christmas-the-religious festival isn’t one I think I’m ever likely to celebrate. But Christmas-the-family-season?

As you’ve probably gathered, things are not going as I planned. I’ve been keeping my head afloat, but now my contract has run out. I still don’t know if it’ll be renewed. It’s taken me three months to feel like I fit into the team here; and I’m not one of the ones invited to the pub at the end of the day.

Christmas has reminded me again that I made a hard choice. I was talking to Mum a few weeks ago, after she’d been on the phone to my Uncle. Amongst the various bits of family gossip, they’d discussed me. My decision to leave the church, my decision to move, my life. And his concerns for me. What happens when God passes judgment? I stress, he’s not judging me.

I’ve always admired my uncle. He’s one of the preachers in his congregation – one of the most upright, genuine, content men I know. His marriage, of 30-odd years, is utterly solid. When they married, he vowed never to raise his voice to his wife, and he’s stuck to it. Not that they don’t argue, but (to use his words) they keep it dignified.

It’s genuine concern he feels. His faith is real and absolute to him. He is in no doubt that there will be a reckoning. He doesn’t judge, but tries to live up to Christian standards as best he can. And when I say non-judgmental? He supported his eldest daughter through her teenage years (highlights: drinking, stealing the family car, knocked-up at 17 by a [now imprisoned] criminal); supported his younger son through someone else’s messy divorce, as said son got together with someone else’s wife. Hardly acceptable by his principles; but his principles didn’t allow him to abandon his family. I’ve disagreed with him over the years, but I have real respect for him.

It just serves to highlight the gap I’ve placed between myself and my family. It’s minimised as much as I can, as much as they can. And yet, it’s there. I don’t feel any guilt. It’s something I chose to do, and I am sure I made the right decision.

But, it’s Christmas. My family feel a long, long, long way away.

Originally published at kiwi geek. You can comment here or there.