I'll Be Home For Christmas

For those who aren’t hip to the whole workings of the retail machine, Black Friday is coming up this Friday, the day after Thanksgiving. If you want more info on what Black Friday is, you can Google that shit. Suffice it to say that the day used to be a little more under the table as far as retailers competing for your dollars, but now it seems like it has come to all-out whoring for your dollars.

It’s kind of nice to see Wal-Mart become such a slut. Though that is kind of overkill, to be honest. It’s like the Yankees begging and pleading for ANOTHER World Series title when they already have like 29 of them or something. Okay, we get it, you rule the world, now stop killing everyone else for a little while and let them have some fun.

And we all know that with all of this “holiday” spirit comes all of the Christmas songs that can either get you in a really great mood (usually only if you are a girl) or completely destroy your day by throwing you into past memories you never really asked to be thrown into. Today I had just such an experience. And since I’m not a girl, you know which of those I was thrown into.

It was the song “I’ll Be Home For Christmas” by any artist who has ever stood in front of a microphone for a Christmas album. I think I heard nine different variations on it today. And nine variations of that song is nine too many, if you ask me. And you didn’t ask me, but you’re reading this and that’s close enough for me.

The chorus got me thinking about where exactly home is. Am I supposed to dream about going home to the first Christmas I ever remember having? The one where I got the most AWESOME army man mountain fort with tanks and 6 levels of army man glory in it? Or am I supposed to dream about the one where I walked around all day in my underwear and my Lone Ranger 6-shooters (stop swooning ladies)? Those Christmases were in a house in Denver, Colorado and no one lives there anymore. At least no one I would go home to. I’m sure lots of other people live there, just not my family.

Should I think of the Christmases I spent in Flagstaff, AZ with my family? The ones where I was old enough to appreciate Christmas as more than just a day when I got a bunch of gifts but as a day where I got to hang around with my family and participate in traditions that the younger kids don’t even know exist? Those were some good Christmases, but once again, no one lives there anymore. That house belongs to someone else now. I haven’t even seen the inside in twelve or thirteen years.

Or should I think of the Christmases I spent with my friends and their parents over the years? In the last 15 years I have spent more Christmases with four COMPLETELY different families than I have with my own. Hell, I haven’t even seen my parents in eight or nine years. It’s been so long since I’ve seen them that I don’t even know what year it was anymore. Is that how I am supposed to think of going home to Christmas? The years I have spent as a Christmas “orphan?”

How do I go home to a Christmas like that? I have lots of fond memories of all of the holidays I have spent with my friends and their families, and I can’t thank those families enough for opening their arms and hearts to the Christmas orphan, but which of those memories am I supposed to go home to in my dreams?

I think this year the Christmas I am going to go home to is the one from 1993. I don’t remember exactly what happened that Christmas, but it couldn’t have been all bad . . . just like all of the rest of them.

B!