december 23. 11:34pm.
Holidays are not how they used to be.
When you’re young, your only worries are wondering
if your letter made it to the north pole,
or if you’ve left enough cookies out.
A girl so young has no idea how many years she has left
before the magic fades.
Her new worries consist of counting the change
found between couch cushions,
barely able to treat her family to the gifts they deserve.
Christmas used to be about surrounding yourself with loved ones,
sitting next to your favorite relative at dinner,
singing carols around the piano;
funny how we used to wish for things like bikes and dolls,
now we only wish to feel that young again.
Today was your first Christmas as an adult.
Twenty-one: finally old enough to have wine with dinner,
even though you mastered the craft of making cocktails
well before age twelve.
Finally old enough to be treated as an adult,
but still young enough for your brother to condescend you,
still young enough to be at fault when the table is not perfectly set.
As you greet family at the door,
you notice your nephew wipe a tear before it has the chance to fall,
and plaster on a smile for the sake of appearances.
Probably another fight with his dad,
ending with him hearing “man up” or “quit being a pussy”.
I don’t mention to him that I notice the redness in his eyes,
but I remember being eleven.
I remember being taught that being sensitive shows weakness,
and weaknesses are meant to be hidden.
When you’re young,
you are too oblivious to realize that the dinner conversation
is anything but light-hearted.
Your family members take turns digging at each other,
maybe in an attempt to raise their own self-esteem,
maybe as a form of senseless entertainment.
You have pieced together over the years
that your brother does not get along with your aunt,
your aunt does not get along with your mother,
your mother does not get along with your cousin…
and so on.
and the longer we make our way around the family tree,
you find out that the reason we keep coming back
to the same house
for the same gathering
is for the kids.
For your niece who is five,
and your nephew, who keeps reminding you he is almost nine.
We put up with the excruciating small talk
and endless passive aggressive insults,
in the name of tradition,
because each of us used to be that young, and that hopeful.
Your first Christmas as an adult, but also,
your first Christmas with your mom’s new boyfriend.
You’re happy for her, you really are,
but things are not the same.
Maybe they never will be.
He has little to no personality
and his wheezy laugh makes your skin crawl,
but she’s happy.
And that’s all you can ask for.
Right?
The gifts have been opened,
the dishes, washed and put away.
The evening is coming to a close,
and your niece, who is half-asleep in your lap,
decides the night is not complete without being carried to the car.
You put her in her carseat,
and kiss her forehead.
She looks at you with twinkling eyes, and asks,
“Can we stay up late to see Santa when he comes down the chimney?”
You can’t help but melt.
“Sweetie, he doesn’t come unless you’re sound asleep.”
We play into this lie, whether we mean to or not,
fighting to protect innocence in a world determined to destroy it.
On the drive home from mom’s house,
the radio sings “There’s No Place Like Home For The Holidays”
and the streets are quiet.
You think about your nephew,
and his sweet, sensitive heart.
If only you could express to him that his capacity to love is a strength
that comes with its own baggage,
but is something to be proud of, not ashamed.
You reminisce on Christmas as a child,
how you begged your brother to stay up with you to catch Santa,
how you swore you heard sleigh bells the next morning.
And right then, in the car,
you decide that you will do whatever it takes
to create a healthier living environment for your future family.
You tell yourself that you will make the holiday season joyful again,
it’ll be something your children will look forward to,
rather than dread.
By the time you pull in your driveway,
you have almost convinced yourself that you will be a better parent,
and somehow, you will miraculously be the one to break the cycle.
But it doesn’t work that way, does it?
No matter how hard you try to defeat decades of generational trauma,
something will happen that’s out of your hands.
Your second-born daughter will be ignored one too many times,
she may grow to resent you,
she may not.
One day, she may decide to stop coming home for Christmas,
it won’t be your fault.
But come December 24, you’ll wonder where you went wrong.
Good tidings,
Kristin
december 24. 1:09am.
love always, kristin 
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