It’s the most wonderful time of the year.
So they say. But I never really got that kind of Christmas. That jolly, wishful, too-happy-I’m-lost-for-words kind feeling. Not because we never had chestnuts roasting on an open fire; or I never saw mommy kissing Santa Claus; or I never had a glimpse of Frosty the Snowman or got even a hint of snow…but because, well…how could this be the hap-happiest season of all/ most wonderful time of the year, when loved ones are near—when the one person I’ve always longed to be near to--is halfway around the globe and probably doesn’t even know that I exist.
Needless to say, Christmas has always been the exact opposite of that jolly song. Despite the fact that my momma tried so hard to make me happy. I knew she loved me, and I loved her too…but this deep longing for my father has always kept the joyous spirit of Christmas at a tantalizing distance.
Every year my mom would bring me shopping for a Christmas gift. And while other kids tugged at their father’s hand pointing at the toy they wanted, I’d tug my momma’s hand and point at those children’s fathers. I don’t think any of them ever really knew how lucky they already were. Each year, that was the gift I asked for. For 26 years, I never got it. But still, I continue to hope. That one day, he’ll hear my songs; look into my eyes; recognize my pink fur; and say, “Gorgoro, my son!”
Christmas may not be the happiest, most wonderful, ever-so-joyous time of the year for me. Still, it’s the most hopeful. It may not mean the same way for me as it does for you, but whatever this season may mean for you, I wish you’d feel it so wonderfully well this time around…And I hope you’ll get what you wish for, this year.
