Po
Boy Views
By
Phil
LaMancusa
Willin’
Or
The
Idiot and The Odyssey
Back in the day, January would annually be celebrated as
the month that sanity finally returned to the grownups in my family and
collaterally, to us children. In December each year we were surrounded by
raving full blown bat guano crazy maniac adults that we happened to be subjected,
related, and forced to live in close proximity to. Mercifully, this was when I
was younger, but I feel that it became instrumental as a specific reason why I
no longer live any closer than a thousand miles from my nearest relative. My
life: my sanity.
Turmoil
would start on my birthday, which is December 1st, and for a long time I suspected
that I was the cause of the madness that invaded the household. In retrospect, I realized that the beginning
of December was the time that the last welfare check came in before the horrid
days of Christmas were upon us and the mad scramble for family holiday cred had to begin not only in earnest but
with a high degree of alacrity. Large family; small income; pride; prejudice;
pretense; competition and excessive focus on the importance of material
significance all rolled up into the red eyed, fang gleaming, fire breathing,
brimstone belching, mucus dripping, blood thirsty, razor clawed monster of impending
failure to keep up appearances for the holiday season turning everyone around
me from mild mannered Doctor (I’ll have another piece of pie) Thanksgiving
Jekyll into Mister (cajones-in-a-vice-grip) Holiday Hyde.
I’ll
admit I wasn’t the sharpest tack, but it didn’t take a rocket surgeon to know
that the grownups were having meltdowns in December more so than other months-- when they were merely irrational,
unpredictable, illogical, and a lesson to the kids that growing up was
something that should be avoided at all costs.
Of
course, when the New Year finally rolled in, the miasma of impending doom had
passed—for them. The threats of no presents, no tree, no Santa and even no
Christmas dinner had fallen by the wayside—for them; but, as kids, young and
green, disappointment was our devil. Our fantasies had been bedfellows that we had
nestled with each night; sugar plum fairies that had danced in our heads as the
holiday season came and stood poised to drop an avalanche of cosmic detritus on
our hopes and dreams.
After
Christmas, the realization of the finality of the experience set in for the adults
with them congratulating themselves for a job well done. Us kids, deflated over
not getting our ponies, pool tables, Madame Alexander’s and Thompson submachine
guns resigned ourselves that we had just not been deserving enough.
And,
with Christmas past and New Year’s looming, the grownups gave a collective sigh
and started gearing up for that fabulous party to come, as if making it through
the year alive was reward enough to warrant a colossal shindig; each one
telling the other that it ‘hadn’t been such a bad year’ and ‘this one’ll be
better’ (besides, the next check was in the mail).
Fast
forward to 2015. Here we go with another New Year. Our holiday angst is fading, our resolutions are being formed and
there are no other big expenditures for a while (except for birthdays,
anniversaries, groceries, school supplies, doctors, dentists, the usual
bills, getting things fixed and gettin’
‘er done).
I’ve
come to the realization that it’s never going to get any easier; this year
again, there will be gains and losses; babies will be born; loved ones will die
and the rent will be a little late sometimes. The one thing that is certain
about life is its uncertainty.
I’ll
try to avoid accidents, missteps and
the reliably unplanned ‘less-than-comfortable’ conclusions resulting from my actions
(if I’m not paying attention to good and positive results); but, you know,
stuff happens. Lessons will be learned or
repeated. But, winter will turn to spring and there will be rain. Our best
laid plans won’t always work out and there’ll be sweet surprises that
transpire, magically and exactly when we need them, like the sun rising in the
east over the west bank of the river every day.
We
can get all maudlin about how the world is goin’ to hell in a hand basket or we
can enjoy the ride; we can lose our minds and misplace our senses of humor or
we can be like my weird and wonderful role models that congratulated themselves
on squeaking out of yet another year and toasting each other into another year.
Another chance to do the best they could with what they had.
So,
I’ll keep reminding myself that I’m too
blessed to be stressed and fortunate to have made it through another year
myself; still standing, bent but not
broken.
