Stupid Santa

English: Santa Claus with a little girl Espera...

The “What To My Wondering Eyes” episode of Parenthood sent me into a flashback.

Parenthood was on the mark at the start of this episode with Julia in utter shock when her son declared that Santa is just a fat guy in a suit at the mall. This declaration then left Victor’s sister, Sydney, confused. Victor was recently adopted, and he comes from an underprivileged background. Julia’s family, that Victor recently joined, is at least upper middle class, if not upper class.

If we think about the context from which Victor comes from, his belief regarding Santa makes sense. I grew up poor, and my mother decided to go with the concept that Santa existed.

For a poor kid, this is not the way to go. You start hoping upon hope that Santa will answer your prayers. You shift your prayers from Jesus to Santa because Santa appears to be the option most likely to be fruitful at the moment, given the fact that it’s the holiday season.

Your mother tries to convince you that your Christmas list should only contain a coat and boots.

No, you maintain that this is SANTA we are talking about. Santa KNOWS. Santa will make things right. So, you go all out. You ask for your Dad come back home, make him better, make him stop drinking, make him like he was. You also want Santa to make your Mom stop crying and yelling all the time. It makes you cry too, and it makes you feel scared and lonely. There’s no one there to hug you and make you feel better.

If Santa were to tell you to put a *star* next to the most important thing on your wish list, in case he’s very busy with other kids, and can only do one thing for you, you put the star next to the fact that you want a grown up to *hug* you when you are scared.

At the bottom of the list you ask for the water squirter that hooks up to the garden hose, and allows you to run through and get wet with sprinkles of water on a hot day. You dutifully saved 100 pennies for this, but your mother told you that was nowhere near enough for that. It turns out you need something like 2000 pennies.

You send your list to Santa, and you are sure that you’ve been good enough for what you are asking. Plus, you know your gifts don’t cost a lot of money, so you are sure you will get at least one of them. You can still keep saving pennies for the sprinkler if Santa is very busy.

Then you find out that Santa is coming to the day care center for the poor kids, the one you go to when your mother goes to work. This confuses you because Santa is visiting before Christmas Day, but you think about it, and you decide that this makes sense because Santa wants to make sure to get to the poor kids … and because of this he is making a personal appearance. 

Santa come in with a full sack over his shoulder. When you see this you wonder if you are getting a sprinkler and a hug. You can hardly wait. Santa goes to the front of the room, and says, “Ho, Ho, Ho, kids!” He then gives all of you a stocking that is full of hard candy. He doesn’t know your name. He doesn’t know anyone’s name. You can’t eat the candy because too much sugar makes your stomach hurt. Everyone gets the same stocking of hard candy. You feel bad that you are mad at Santa. You must have done something bad because you did not get one thing on your list, not even the hug.

(Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Smart Heavy

I got to Doc’s in utter despair this morning. Doc suggested that I study what I was feeling as if I was beside it, this way I would be activating the thinking side of my brain instead of the limbic system side. He did warn me that when I do this I may start to get memories of feelings or actual memories. I started to do what he suggested, and without realizing what I was doing I broke into a big smile. At this point, I’ll let Smart Heavy take over …

“Yeah, like I was going to let Beatriz do what Doc wanted. Poor girl isn’t ready yet for that. Doc means well, but he doesn’t know her as well as I do. Doc asked me what my “purpose” is. I told him I’m a heavy, a Smarty Heavy. Not a bouncer. I’m better than a bouncer because I use my words, not my fists, unless I’m forced to do so. However, it’s always as a last resort. 

I told my mother she was an awful parent, didn’t deserve children. She always heard my truth. Doc asked me how that came to be, and I told him it’s because I know right from wrong. I always call things as I see them. For better or for worse, I have no filter. Doc also asked me when I was born. That would be when my mother brought the stupid man home, the idiot that would become my stepfather.

Doc wants to know my name. Yeah, right! Like I would hand that over like a business card! I just gave him my smile that let him know that he was pushing his luck. He was able to accept not knowing my name right away.

It was time for me to speak up though. The little peeps were having a heart attack when Doc suggested his latest exercise. He’s not a bad guy, but the little peeps get scared easily. Someone has to look out for them.”

TW: Floaty free-for-all

Mega ginormous therapy day was had by the lot of us today. We did not like it one bit, not a sliver, not a crumb of like.

It’s weird in life how one seemingly disconnected thing can lead to one thing and then another, and before you know it you can draw the connection between these things. I’m getting ahead of myself, let me explain …

On the long drive to Doc’s office my head started shaking, and it felt a bit … involuntary. I know it’s strange to say that, but that’s how it felt. It felt like I was vigorously shaking my head no, but I had no idea why. The only thing I could surmise was that one of the peeps did not want to go see Doc today.

So, I get in to see Doc, and convey all this to him, and he agrees that is likely the case. It turns out that one of the little peeps did not want to come back because last time when Doc was setting me up for neurofeedback I had a memory come back to me as he was putting the electrodes on my head. I started remembering my mother detangling my hair in a painful manner. I think this memory was triggered because Doc was touching my head while I was a little peep. Anyhow, my mother decided to have my hair cut short, like a boy after this particular detangling because she was tired of dealing with it. My hair was cut so short I looked like Huckleberry Finn in a dress. I was beyond mortified.

To add to the mortification, Easter was upon us very soon after this hair hacking job. I had an awesome baby blue dress that looked like a boy decided to wear a dress to Easter Mass. I was mad, and embarrassed to be seen with the hack job on my head.

Right after Mass my idiotic stepfather had the entire family gather on the lawn in front of the church for a photo. The dork even brought his camera. Who brings a camera to Easter Mass? As we were gathering for the picture I grasped my hands in front of me. My stepfather started taking pictures of us, and my mother shouted out at me that I needed to stop holding my hands that way because it looked like I was touching myself.

Once I conveyed this to Doc I was floaty and out of it. Since then I’ve been grappling with feelings of despair and ideation.

If there’s more to remember, I don’t want it. Don’t want to hear it, don’t want to know it.