Scars of Christmas Past
I was barely 10 years old.
After teaching myself how to play tennis and going from beginner to USTA tournament player in record time, I just knew that my family would get me something related to my new-found athletic passion for Christmas.
On Christmas day, I eagerly opened each Christmas gift.
But with each present, I realized that my parents didn’t have a clue what made me happy.
I got clothes.
I got socks.
I got underwear.
I got school supplies.
Everything I got from my parents was totally unrelated to anything that I remotely liked, especially anything related to my current passion - tennis.
My heart sank lower and lower as I reached the end of the small pile of Christmas gifts.
The last gift I unwrapped was from my older sister. We had always been close.
The rectangular box looked like all the rest of the boxes containing a shirt or pants. I didn’t open it with any enthusiasm.
But then I saw what was inside.
Framed behind a plastic front cover was a set of wrist bands and a headband, the kind I wore to keep sweat from my tennis racket grip and eyes when I played tennis.
That’s when I felt like my sister was the only person in my family - and the world - that loved me enough to know what I was all about.
Run and Hide
The disappointment was overwhelming.
Suddenly, an avalanche of bad feelings began to suffocate me.
Immediately, I sneaked away from my family and guests that were, by now, happily socializing at my family's annual Christmas party.
I spent the rest of the day hidden in the guest room’s closet because I didn’t want anyone to see me convulsing with waves of uncontrollable tears.
I hated Christmas time for the next 32 years.
It wasn’t until my second marriage that I learned to feel good about Christmas.
My second wife went all out during the holiday season - Christmas lights on the house, baking cookies, dinner parties, Santa Claus photos for the kids, etc.
Her infectious joy during Christmas and New Year’s slowly taught me how to finally enjoy a little of the festive cheer.
Forgiveness
Thinking back on my “Crying Christmas,” I realize that my parents did only what they thought was best.
My parents came from a poor background, so all they believed in was school and work.
Since they were old-world Asians, they had a very different set of priorities in life.
They didn’t believe in wasting precious work or study time on sports, art, music, or anything that modern Americans consider recreation for “re-creation.”
It wasn’t until they became wealthy and somewhat “Americanized” did they begin to indulge in leisure activities.
After many years of resentment, I finally understood them; making it easier to forgive them.
In retrospect, I should’ve been grateful for having parents that could buy and give me Christmas presents while other children around the world had no food or shoes.
And I learned to forgive myself for continuing to react like a hurt pre-adolescent whenever someone doesn’t know what I like.
"No one, however close he or she may be, can be expected to read our minds. It’s each individual's responsibility to express his or her likes and dislikes clearly until they are understood - especially to those close to them."
- By my late father (pastor, healer, counselor, mentor, loving husband, terrific father, and unconditional friend to all he ever crossed paths with in life.)
We must also accept that we will frequently meet with disagreements – and it’s okay.
It can always be different, better.
Choices
We all make choices.
And we act on the best choices we can think of at the time. Period.
It's futile to harbor any negativity over seemingly insensitive behavior by others.
Never feel slighted and remember that most people are simply doing what they can with whatever knowledge they possess.
A Couple of Monks
There’s a story about the two traveling monks.
The two monks were supposed to avoid all intimate encounters with the opposite sex. As they came up to a stream, they see a beautiful princess in traditional royal attire. Apparently, she was alone; running away from an abusive suitor that her parents had promised her hand in marriage to.
There were no bridges, boats, or rafts at the stream. The only way to get across the muddy waters was to wade through the muck.
The two monks approached the princess. After assessing the situation, the older monk humbly offered the princess a piggy-back ride across the stream.
The other monk watched in horror as his friend breached the “no contact with the opposite sex” rule.
After reaching the other side, the older monk bent down and gently let the princess dismount.
The princess thanked the monk for the help and offered him a few gold coins. The monk declined the offer; saying that the money would be better spent helping her get away from danger and a life of unhappiness.
For miles and hours the two monks walked in silence.
Suddenly, the younger monk blurted out, “You know we’re not supposed to touch women! Why did you do it?”
The older monk turned to the young monk and just said, “Friend, I made a choice; acted on the best choice I could think of at the time, then I put the princess down on the other side of the stream – many hours and many miles ago. Why are you still carrying her?”
Unlike the wise monk, many of us carry things, heavy things, around with us from the past.
Why do most of us hurt now from something that is done, finished, and over with - in the past?
The past is past.
We must remind ourselves that it’s over - whatever ‘it’ is, and automatically think, “That was then and this is now.”
Special Message
To all my friends (present and future):
"Mele Kalikimaka!"
And when 2025 arrives, let's all keep 2024 where it belongs - in the past.
Namaste (I recognize the divine in you, my friends),
JaiChai
Thanks for stopping by.
