Such is my fate – lonely and melancholic during Christmas and New Year’s.
I have a friend named James, whom I’ve known since childhood. We went to the same school, and though life led us down different paths, we stayed in touch.
James is a reserved individual; he shuns large gatherings, doesn’t visit others, and never invites anyone over.
Every year as the holidays approach, I invite him to join us, to celebrate Christmas at our table, to raise glasses at the stroke of midnight on New Year’s. Yet, he always politely declines.
“These aren’t my holidays,” he says. “I don’t find any joy in them.”
It puzzled me how one could dislike New Year’s – a time of magic, gifts, laughter, and family reunions.
But one day, after many years of silence, he confided in me, revealing a truth he had tried to suppress for years.
A childhood steeped in fear and alcohol
In his youth, James never experienced warm family gatherings.
His father drank.
Not just a drinker, but an alcoholic, who would spend every penny on booze, coming home late and in any day, whether a typical Tuesday or Christmas Eve, would start tormenting the family.
Every evening turned into a torment.
“Stand up!” he ordered upon entering the house. “You must watch how the master of the house dines!”
James and his mother would rise and stand by the table while his father ostentatiously ate his dinner.
Then he’d launch into his favorite speech:
“Money is dust! They’re meant for pleasure! Why new shoes?! Why books?! You already go to school, don’t waste it on trivial things!”
He spent every last penny.
When nothing was left, he moved to the next stage:
“Give it here, what are you hiding! I know you have something!”
James’s mother tried to save money – for his notebooks, food, a small New Year’s gift.
But he took everything.
He drank until he spent every last bit.
Christmas without wonder, New Year’s without hope
Every holiday at James’s home looked the same.
On the table – a few dried apples, a couple of sandwiches, a jar of pickles.
Mother and son sat in silence.
They waited.
Hoped his father would return sober.
That he might bring something for the holiday table.
That he might say, “Merry Christmas” or “Happy New Year.”
But he returned late.
Always drunk.
Reeking of booze.
With empty pockets.
The New Year’s bonus all spent at the bar.
Year after year, it stayed the same.
And when he passed away, nothing really changed.
A lonely man with a heavy heart
When his father was gone, James’s mother lived a few more years.
And then, she too passed.
He was left alone.
And realized he wanted no family.
No celebrations.
No merriment of any kind.
He didn’t want to repeat his father’s fate.
Didn’t want to become someone who would ruin others’ lives.
Every year, as others set the tables, raised glasses, and exchanged gifts, James left.
He’d buy a ticket to another town, rent a hotel room, and be by himself.
Or he’d journey into the mountains, where he could listen to logs crackling in the fire and gaze into the flames.
There, by the fire, he found the warmth he never knew in childhood.
There, in solitude, he felt a bit freer.
Only there could he breathe.
