In so many ways, I am becoming Ebeneezer Scrooge. Certainly not in the more-money-than-I-know-what-to-do-with way, or the mean, stingy, miserly way. No, I am becoming Scrooge-like in the generally-hating-the-holiday-season way. As much as I appreciate the birth of the man who would willingly die on the cross for my sins, I've never been much of a birthday celebration person. And with all the hype and hoopla surrounding the anticipation of the holiday season, the day itself always seems anticlimactic, like is was far more work and worry than it was really worth. But more than the seeming aggravation of the season, it is the obligatory family shin-digs that I dread the most.
Anyone who knows me or has been following my writing is aware of the strained relationship I tend to have with family members. If not, a brief whirl-wind tour of family history may illuminate the rest of this story: my brother broke my leg, my sister got me turned in to Children's Services, and my father forgot he had daughters. Sounds like a fabulous family get together scenario, yes? Don't get me wrong. I am capable of loving my family in spite of their perceived ills because they are family. That doesn't mean I particularly enjoy spending tons of time with them. Which works out for everyone because I seem to be little more than an afterthought to them in most regards. For example...
My brother lives in a very small town where everyone knows everyone and it seems like everyone gets along. The neighborhood collectively has a big brew-ha every year for Halloween, and for years now the family has been invited. Except for me. Well, that's not entirely true. Several years ago, I was told in advance this was happening and was actually able to make it. Since then, I have known this tradition continues, and I have known that the rest of my family attends, but I have never received another invite. Pretty much yearly, after the fact, my sister mentions that the kids missed seeing us at the Halloween event. Well, maybe if I had been given information about when it was I could have been there.
This is just one of MANY such scenarios, as is evidenced at every family shin-dig I am obligated to attend. As I am sure happens at most family gatherings, memories and reminiscings of good times past are enjoyed around the table. In my family, this is the point in the conversation that I fall quiet because I have nothing to contribute to the happy memory being shared since I have no idea what they are talking about. Birthday parties and bon fires past are remembered with great fondness while I am reminded yet again that I am out of sight and out of mind. Listening to the kids talk about when they have had overnights with my brother or sister causes me to question why my own kids were never offered the same experiences. Watching my sister's kids fawn all over my brother while they hardly seem to recognize me drives the point home. Overhearing about comical interactions over facebook reminds me that I have more FB friends that are in-laws than blood.
But why? What is it about me that makes me so invisible, so unnoticed, so forgotten? Is it simply a matter of the so-called "middle child syndrome"? Is it because both my brother and sister were wild kids and therefore demanded parental attention and, since old habits die hard, that is simply where the attention continues to be focused? Actually, in my heart of hearts, I believe I know the answer. But even if I am correct in my supposition, I still don't understand why it makes me a black sheep.
So as if the holiday season itself weren't stressful enough, I am doubly burdened by the knowledge that I will be forced to endure the hurtful reminders that for the rest of the year I am not even on the family radar. Sometimes I wish they wouldn't feel obligated to include me in holiday events, since, with the exception of my sister's invites to her kids' birthday parties, they feel no obligation to include me in anything else.
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