Before beginning, this is not a pity party or some reaching out for solace. It merely addresses that which some in my acquaintance consider to be an aberration. I don’t holiday.
In my opinion, holidays are for families. I don’t have a family. I have a wife who is closer to me than Adam’s rib and a great number of relatives scattered across the country and abroad. But no family.
My definition of family is that group of people, related by blood, who interact on a regular basis, share meals, share life events, good and bad, and are mutually supportive.
My experience, however, is one of having a great number of people whose names are familiar but whose lives are known only through face book postings, occasional seasonal cards and the “family” newsletters extolling the latest exploits of children never seen in the flesh.
I have grown not only accustomed to, but actually quite comfortable with the status quo. At this late date I doubt that I could ever adjust to the holidays as depicted by Norman Rockwell.
So when you ask what plans I have for any given holiday and I respond with, “survival,” please don’t look at me as if I just stepped off of a space ship. I may be the only one on the entire planet who feels this way, but somehow I doubt it.
So for all my holiday-ing friends, “Happy RamaHanaKwanzMas.” I’ll continue to celebrate the month of August.