The sweet little guy himself was on tonight, at 8:00 on ABC. Charlie Brown wants to know the true meaning of Christmas, and groans at how commercialized it all has become. One of his pals recites from the New Testament and Charlie Brown learns that Christmas is about a person and not about things.



I called my mom and talked to her and my dad tonight. Tomorrow my dad will have surgery to remove six to eight inches of his colon. We will then find out whether or not he has cancer.

I also talked briefly to my little sister. Our last conversation ended abruptly, one that occurred before my surgery in October. She displayed no empathy whatsoever for my situation and I hung up on her. I did call back and left a message that she was being a bi***. She proceeded to call back and leave a message that made very clear what a worthless human being she thought I was. Lucky for her there are so many adjectives to describe a person like that and she made liberal use of them in her message. We spoke very briefly tonight. Needless to say, there were no apologies. Apparently I am still a worthless human being in her eyes.

People like this sicken me. Anyone who has been through it can say in all honesty that no one can truly know unless they have walked a mile in another's shoes. What gives them the right to judge? Who gave them the privilege to decimate you with their words? Or at least attempt to.

Enough about that. It distresses me just thinking about it, and those conversations happened two months ago.

I am, of course, concerned about my dad, his surgery, and the outcomes. But another part of me is distant, almost like a stranger. It has been two years since my parents visited my children and I here. I mentioned that my daughter may have a snow day tomorrow and my dad asked if she rides the bus. I told him that we live two blocks from school so she walks. If they had visited our home in the past two years they would be aware of this.

It's like they have two daughters and not three. It's like they have four grandchildren and not six. And daughter and I are really on our own. Even my son has little contact with us. It is par for the course. My parents call once a month, send cards and some money for birthdays and Christmas.

The whole thing is ironic. My sisters and I grew up our entire childhood and teenage years away from our grandparents, aunts and uncles, and cousins. We seen them twice a year, if the weather cooperated at Christmas. My two sisters' husbands are from the Maryland/West Virginia area. My parents made sure they settled there too so they wouldn't miss what my grandparents were robbed of.

My children's fathers are from Michigan. It has always been important to me to encourage and nurture their relationships with their dads and their dad's families. I did such a good job with my son that practically the minute he could legally leave me he did and is living with one of his cousins and her family.

It occurred to me as I was writing this how bitter I sound. I looked up the word in the dictionary and one of the meanings pretty much says it all. Marked by rancor or disappointment. I would say my life is chock full of disappointments. I understand what it must be like to be the Charlie Brown tree and collapse under the weight of one ornament.

I really hate the holidays. If it were not for my daughter I would not celebrate them at all. They hold no special meaning or excitement for me. Luckily I can put on a brave face and make the holidays as pleasant as I can for her.

When family is important to you having family missing from your life is a tough one to swallow. I hope in my next forty-three years of living I can come to terms with it better than I have in the last forty-three years.