Oh, it’s Christmas time! The time to be golly wholly jolly and get them presents for the whole family. Except that one aunt. But we’ll get there in time. I love christmas, i really do. In fact, i think it should be longer. But with christmas time, comes the truth aswell. You see, i wasn’t always this great person you see (or read). No, Lord Baby Jesus, i wasn’t. I was flawed.
Let me tell something you don’t know: I am an ex-addict. That’s right. I’ve struggled with temptation. I’ve fallen victim of the dark necessity, i’ve felt the relentless grip of vice. Up until i was 8 years old! Maybe 9.
I was sitting in my room and I felt it. A sort of itch, just enough to make you uncomfortable. I heard my parents arriving from shopping and I open my rooms door and take a peek at the hall. I see them carrying bags, groceries bags and I see it. I see what’s giving me the itch, what’s making me uncomfortable. I yell to my mom:
“Hey mom? Mom? MOM ?!?”
“What, what?” she goes. “what day is it today, mom?” Looking puzzled, she says “the 16th?” “ I asked you a fucking question, Mother. Don’t guess, what day is it today?” “ the 16th of December! Jesus!”
(In this scenario, as an 8-year-old kid, i use foul language with my mom)
“Mom, is that Christmas wrapping paper that I see in the bags?” “yes” “what the fuck mom, you know about my condition! We’re like 48 days away from Christmas and you bring that shit into the house?” My math was off by a few days. You see, I was a Christmas gift junkie. The first of my kind, I was the Alois Alzheimer, the Lou Gehrig of the Christmas Syndrome. The mere sight of wrapping paper gave me the itch, let alone the wrapped gift! I was cursed with the unholy desire of Christmas presents.
I’d become feverish with the sight of Christmas gifts. I couldn’t sleep, I couldn’t do shit. It got worse with the Christmas tree surrounded with gifts. My mom would have to cover my head with cold towels and shit so that I could be at ease. But I wasn’t and used to beg her to let me just have a sneak peek:
“Mom, just a peek. I don’t need to see the whole thing, just need a quick fix, please” and she’d be like “no son, though it out, you can do it, I have faith in you and God too” “There is no god Mother, get yo’ facts together woman. I swear, if you don’t let me get a peek of that perfectly wrapped rectangular box, imma gonna lose my mind up in this shit. Don’t tempt me lady. I’ll rob your fucking jewels so that i can buy a set of LEGO’S. I’ll fucking do it” And she’d be like “It’s all okay, that’s just the need talking” ” Yeah, ma, i NEED to ! I keep saying it, i NEED to. Jeez, i thought you were only partially deaf. You got problems!”
And this would last like all the way up until the 24th when i started to relax. The itch would be gone and i would be fine. I knew the presents were a-coming. And everyone would be teasing me ’cause i couldn’t handle my shit. I HAD A PROBLEM YOU FUCKS ! And there was always this aunt of mine that would go “you know, someday you will see that the magic is in giving, not receiving.” “Hey Auntie, i don’t know what excuse my uncle is giving you if you aint getting any but keep the knowledge to your fucking self, please.” It was tough kicking the habit but by age 10 i was a new man. I could handle my shit. I was cured.
Every year, i mean, every single year ever since, there isn’t a christmas where someone doesn’t go like “Hey remember when this guy used to get all feverish and shit because mom wouldn’t let him open his presents before christmas? Ah ah.” And they all act like i had no CGS, Christmas Gift Syndrome for those unacquainted with it. I look at them and just go ” Fuck all of you”, except my sister who was way too young to remember it. But the rest, and with particular emphasis to my aunt, that kept saying that magic shit about giving instead of receiving, fuck you. Not because you weren’t right, but because you were being an asshole.
Now i feel all christmas-y and shit. Nice.