"Jesus Christ, I'm 26, all the people I graduated with, all have kids, all have wives, all have people who care if they come home at night, well, Jesus Christ, did I fuck up?"
--The Wonder Years
I don't think it's in the textbook we use now, but the William Faulkner story "A Rose for Emily" was in every eleventh grade textbook for years. Set in a small Southern town in the years straddling the turn of the 20th century, it's the story of Emily, an aging woman who lived with only her father, an elitist who never let her go on even one single date because he thought no one was good enough. I believe, and this is from memory so don't quote me on it, there's a line that says something akin to, The Griersons always held themselves a little higher than what they really were. When Emily's father dies, she's so lost and alone that she refuses to let his body go or even to acknowledge that he's dead, and years later, after she finally finds a lover, she poisons him and keeps his body in her bed so that she won't be alone.
--The Wonder Years
I don't think it's in the textbook we use now, but the William Faulkner story "A Rose for Emily" was in every eleventh grade textbook for years. Set in a small Southern town in the years straddling the turn of the 20th century, it's the story of Emily, an aging woman who lived with only her father, an elitist who never let her go on even one single date because he thought no one was good enough. I believe, and this is from memory so don't quote me on it, there's a line that says something akin to, The Griersons always held themselves a little higher than what they really were. When Emily's father dies, she's so lost and alone that she refuses to let his body go or even to acknowledge that he's dead, and years later, after she finally finds a lover, she poisons him and keeps his body in her bed so that she won't be alone.
***
Last week I was looking at a Yankee Candle fundraising catalog for one of my students, initially thinking about how expensive the candles were and that I didn't know how anybody could ever justify spending that much money on candles and then thinking how good the candles smelled and that maybe, just maybe, I would buy one. Help a student out. I was reading the candles' names, first looking specifically for something that had patchouli and then, after not finding one, at the seasonal scents. Apple pumpkin, spiced pumpkin, autumn leaves. It'd be really nice to have the house smell like fall, I thought. I love the smell of fall. Then I turned the page and looked at the winter scents. Christmas Cookie, Christmas Wreath, Christmas Eve.
***
My parents weren't holiday people. We celebrated holidays when I was growing up, but not much was really done. Maybe we carved a pumpkin once or twice but I could be wrong; if I'm not wrong and we did, I'm definitely right when I say that was the only Halloween thing that would have been done. Definitely no decorations or anything along those lines. Same sentiment for Christmas. Sometimes we had a tree but to be honest, I don't know how it got decorated because I don't remember decorating it at all. I never believed in Santa Claus. Stupid kid things like that (tooth fairies and Easter bunnies and cartoons and not knowing exactly where babies come from or not watching your downstairs neighbors shotgun weed into your seven-year-old sister's mouth) weren't endorsed in my house.
We all know how it goes. Grown ups either emulate what their own parents did or go as far from it as they possibly can. I chose the latter. Other than pulling out the pumpkin decorations every Halloween and making Thanksgiving dinner, I didn't do very much for those holidays, but Christmas? Christmas was my thing.
From orchestrating designated family Christmas-tree decorating time every year to making the same exact Christmas morning breakfast every year since Griffin was three to Glenn and the kids and I doing Christmas Eve-y things until the kids went to bed and then he and I staying up and wrapping presents and leaving evidence of Santa Claus around, I had Christmas down. And Christmas dinner? Please. The year I got married I declared I wanted Christmas dinner to be at my house and invited everybody I possibly could. I had special Christmas placemats and special Christmas napkins and special Christmas tree napkin holders that I put on special Christmas tablecloths (yes, tablecloths plural because when you invite everybody you possibly can, one table isn't enough). Erin lived with Glenn and me then, and she and I woke up early and cooked a million things: mashed potatoes and scalloped potatoes and broccoli Jennifer and sweet potato casserole and gravy and two kinds of stuffing and rolls and maybe Erin made macaroni and cheese but I'm not entirely positive (unlike how I am entirely positive that we had brisket instead of roast because I totally forgot to defrost the roast the night before and on Christmas Day I had to run to a kosher grocer in Emerald Hills and take what I could get).
I did Christmas dinners for years, and at the peak I probably had 20 people in my house, but just like we know how the following of parental patterns goes, we know how the evolution of life does, too. My aunt and uncle, who moved to Chicago, were the first ones to stop coming. Not long after, my parents moved to Charlotte. My sister soon got divorced, which not only meant her husband no longer came, but my nephew rarely did, either, because he was with his father. Erin broke up with her long-time boyfriend, Ben, and started dating her now-husband, and as she crossed over to his side, not only did she and Ben disappear, but so did her sister and her then-boyfriend, Brian. Curt moved far, far away. I got divorced. Griffin split his time between me and his dad (I got breakfast).
My overflowing house? A thing of the past.
Last year I went to my sister's and her boyfriend's for Christmas: They just sold their house and left the state; Griffin lives in Orlando; Keifer lives in Jacksonville.
I literally am the only one left.
***
I had a pseudo son. About six months after Keifer moved out, while I was in Tampa scoring AP exams, he moved in. The night I got back, we hung out in my room and took pictures and facetimed one of my old students and all talked. The next day he came down in the morning and I made us both eggs. We sat at the table and talked about boys. One night not long after, his boyfriend came over and spent the night, but not long after that, he started sleeping at his boyfriend's or mom's house much more often than not.
About a month ago when I was at Target I saw a Dia de los Muertos cookie decorating kit and, having been a Mexican revolutionary in a past life, was extremely excited. When I messaged my pseudo son to see if he wanted to decorate cookies sugar skull style, he told me to buy the kit.
He's since moved out.
***
I sat there with that Yankee Candle catalog looking at the smells of Christmas and fall, one second thinking about how nice the house could potentially smell, the next second thinking about the way the house used to smell and the second after that about the way the house used to be. The second that came next? I was standing there crying in front of my class as one of my students got up and gave me a hug.
I was just trying to raise money, the girl who gave me the catalog said to the class. I'm sorry, Ms. McIntyre.
***
I just said goodbye to Keifer who I saw this weekend for only the third time in ten months. When he was here, the two of us were talking.
I told him I thought maybe I made a mistake. It's the first time I've ever said those words out loud.
He assured me I didn't. He reminded me of how things were.
I know that he's right, that I'm just feeling sorry for myself.
It's just so hard to remember when I'm enveloped in how things are.
From orchestrating designated family Christmas-tree decorating time every year to making the same exact Christmas morning breakfast every year since Griffin was three to Glenn and the kids and I doing Christmas Eve-y things until the kids went to bed and then he and I staying up and wrapping presents and leaving evidence of Santa Claus around, I had Christmas down. And Christmas dinner? Please. The year I got married I declared I wanted Christmas dinner to be at my house and invited everybody I possibly could. I had special Christmas placemats and special Christmas napkins and special Christmas tree napkin holders that I put on special Christmas tablecloths (yes, tablecloths plural because when you invite everybody you possibly can, one table isn't enough). Erin lived with Glenn and me then, and she and I woke up early and cooked a million things: mashed potatoes and scalloped potatoes and broccoli Jennifer and sweet potato casserole and gravy and two kinds of stuffing and rolls and maybe Erin made macaroni and cheese but I'm not entirely positive (unlike how I am entirely positive that we had brisket instead of roast because I totally forgot to defrost the roast the night before and on Christmas Day I had to run to a kosher grocer in Emerald Hills and take what I could get).
I did Christmas dinners for years, and at the peak I probably had 20 people in my house, but just like we know how the following of parental patterns goes, we know how the evolution of life does, too. My aunt and uncle, who moved to Chicago, were the first ones to stop coming. Not long after, my parents moved to Charlotte. My sister soon got divorced, which not only meant her husband no longer came, but my nephew rarely did, either, because he was with his father. Erin broke up with her long-time boyfriend, Ben, and started dating her now-husband, and as she crossed over to his side, not only did she and Ben disappear, but so did her sister and her then-boyfriend, Brian. Curt moved far, far away. I got divorced. Griffin split his time between me and his dad (I got breakfast).
My overflowing house? A thing of the past.
Last year I went to my sister's and her boyfriend's for Christmas: They just sold their house and left the state; Griffin lives in Orlando; Keifer lives in Jacksonville.
I literally am the only one left.
***
I had a pseudo son. About six months after Keifer moved out, while I was in Tampa scoring AP exams, he moved in. The night I got back, we hung out in my room and took pictures and facetimed one of my old students and all talked. The next day he came down in the morning and I made us both eggs. We sat at the table and talked about boys. One night not long after, his boyfriend came over and spent the night, but not long after that, he started sleeping at his boyfriend's or mom's house much more often than not.
About a month ago when I was at Target I saw a Dia de los Muertos cookie decorating kit and, having been a Mexican revolutionary in a past life, was extremely excited. When I messaged my pseudo son to see if he wanted to decorate cookies sugar skull style, he told me to buy the kit.
He's since moved out.
***
I sat there with that Yankee Candle catalog looking at the smells of Christmas and fall, one second thinking about how nice the house could potentially smell, the next second thinking about the way the house used to smell and the second after that about the way the house used to be. The second that came next? I was standing there crying in front of my class as one of my students got up and gave me a hug.
I was just trying to raise money, the girl who gave me the catalog said to the class. I'm sorry, Ms. McIntyre.
***
I just said goodbye to Keifer who I saw this weekend for only the third time in ten months. When he was here, the two of us were talking.
I told him I thought maybe I made a mistake. It's the first time I've ever said those words out loud.
He assured me I didn't. He reminded me of how things were.
I know that he's right, that I'm just feeling sorry for myself.
It's just so hard to remember when I'm enveloped in how things are.
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