Family Christmas, The "Liberal" and the New York Times

Thoughts on this please....

Even though we're re-creating some of what should have happend Thursday morning I can't help but the in the worst mood. I'm trying to stop, to rise above, to be better, to be the (perfect, charming, witty) person I know (trained) myself to be. I get to put on my Scarlett face, the perfect, pretty, how could anything be wrong face. I've been hiding behind my laptop and the online version of the New York Times all morning. Coffee with my dad, which I usually enjoy has come to nothing, because I realize that my parents don't want to really know anything about me. I'm normally o.k. with just letting things slide, but I'm starting to figure out that the more that gets unsaid, the more I have to live with the fact that even though I've come out and it's supposed to make things easier, really it would be easier just to still be hiding, because I can't even tell them I went dancing or say something like "This guy I know..." without them thinking I'm fucking my way through half the Metroplex.  Normally I can take this with a grain of salt, but for some reason my armor isn't working, there are chinks, and I must have been hit with something because I can't breathe. 

I'm ready to go back to my life. Stranger in my own family. Drowning...

Christmas Eve, sort of...

I'm sitting here listening to my dad's arm drain (for lack of a better name for it), it sounds like a clock, or coffee perk, like the kind that you used to set on the stove to make coffee. I'm pretty amazed, he drove home from San Antonio and drove to dinner and for the most part hasn't been too grumpy. Again, like last Christmas, I am alone. I am the only one of my parents' children at home. 

I hate being at home. Well,  I don't hate it, but I'm always so ready to get back to my life, that I've started coming home for a shorter and shorter time. I know this isn't the best things to do, but in some ways I feel like I'm in prison. Despite having come out more than three years ago, mentioning the fact that I like boys is still taboo to my parents. I get it, ok, I really do, after all I had to come out to them, I had to break all of their plans, so I know that it isn't at all easy for them to hear me talk about being gay. But then, if we can't talk about it, then why did I come out? What was the point if I can't have an open and honest relationship with my parents in the first place? So each time I come home, I go into the cage of charm. Talk about everything else but what I might be up to, and comfort myself with the fact that I'll be back at home in a matter of days and then I can be myself.  As much as I don't think my brother and sister have as much in common, none of the three of us likes to come home, and they live near my parents.

This past year I realize how lucky we are; that my parents are in late-middle age and not approaching their golden years, so that they can recover from heart attacks and shoulder loss and not need someone to move home and start a new life. Comforting as that may be, though, it's so scary to realize that your parents are getting old. By the time my grandmother was 52, the age her oldest son, my father, is now she already had 7 of 9 grandchildren. My parents have none, and yet they are twenty years ahead in their major medical problems. Instead of coming home to visit, which is what my folks really want me to do, I'm afraid that I'm going to be coming home to help them clean the house, or clean up and organize the garage. And, even though I tell myself that it's temporary and only because Dad can't help Mom because of his arm, I still can't help but think of the day when that becomes a principal reason for every trip home, and that is such a daunting thought. 

What's more is that I find it harder to relate to these people, especially my dad, because this isn't the man who I grew up afraid of. I don't always know how to respond when he says, "I love you" or "I'm glad you're here," or "I was hoping you would stay longer,". I don't know what to do with this, not because I doubt his sincerity, but because I have no idea how to tell him that as much as love that we get up and drink coffee together and visit, that I'd rather be at my own house with my own life. But we'll see, we always are the most real over a good cup of coffee. 

Feliz Navidad

I am so tired. In the past few years we (the Bitners) have enjoyed our share of rare Christmases. We have been in 3 different houses (this is our first Christmas in this house, and by next year we could be back in McAllen), one or more of us have been absent (this year we were actually all here for most of the day) and for the past two years "Christmas Morning" has been at a different time, this year we're waiting till Sunday, so that Dad can come home from having surgery on his shoulder. 

I stayed in Dallas to have Christmas w/ the boy. I could kinda kick myself for it, it's more sentimental than I'd normally like to behave. Even better is that we've really only been dating since August, and well, damnit I just couldn't help myself. Not celebrating Christmas (gift-giving) growing up and not getting an appreciation for it later in life I really wanted him to see what it was like for us, I wanted him to see why I liked it.  And, I must say, I love Christmas. I love the tree and the ornaments and the stockings and getting up early and then eating breakfast and wearing a new outfit. I love the candy and the cookies and the wrapping paper and sitting all day watching movies. So I was really happy that I could do this on the actual day for him, I even played Santa :). 

(Yes, reading parts of the above paragraph make me want to vomit and throw myself into on-coming traffic, but oh well).

Then I had to drive. I'm so used to having some gigantic family gathering or some place to be that I was getting really stressed about getting to San Antonio and Dad's hospital room on time. Then I realized that he was in the hospital until Saturday no matter what, so really he couldn't yell at me for being late. But, also in it being Christmas, and me being such a creature of habit and tradition, I was pretty ready to see everyone. I made good time (two fairly long stops) and managed to be in San Antonio by noon. I left Dallas at 8. 

Tonight I'm by myself. My brother and sister both have other things to do, Mom stayed in San Anto w/ Dad and so I'm here taking care of the dogs (who got put up for fighting) by myself. I don't know exactly why my mother hasn't had time to put up the decorations (or move into their new house completely) but I have a few ornaments to put on in the morning, and then just the gym and a nice long run. 

Really, the thing I've learned in the last few years is that Christmas is special because of who you spend it with. Sure I love the tree lights in a dark room, and ornaments from my childhood, and the food and the presents, but really, you can roll with the punches on Christmas as long as you're with the ones you love. 

The Simple Life

Tonight has been pretty great. As much as I like the fact the most folks think I'm a crazy hell-raiser (and I am if you get me riled), I really like a nice evening at home. Having two whole weeks off I'm a little out of my element since my day doesn't have to start at 530, and go until 10 or later. There are no grades, journals or meetings, no ignorant co-workers, crazy boss or asinine bullshit to deal with. 

Since it didn't get above freezing today, and I have nothing to wake up for in the morning, I decided I'd stay at Chaz's (as long as we can stay at my house Christmas Eve). He had about 8 chicken breasts that he hadn't used, so I decided I was going to make soup. I love making soup! Generally anytime I make soup or stew I do it the "Southern" way. Throw as much leftover meat and veggies into a pot, add some stock or bouillon and then cook for 2 hours. Ideally you'd start soup around 4, the longer it cook the more time the flavors have to mellow, but this was still really great. There is nothing like soup on a cold day, especially if it's spicy.  Throw in a good movie ("The American President") and some leftover Peppermint Bark (which I gotta say made with semi-sweet chocolate chips is off the chain) and you couldn't ask for more. I love that I have this life that is starting to look settled, and that I'm not so afraid of that as I was just a few months ago. That's a good step, right? 

To Forgive Divine

I'd like to say that after Friday's post the clouds opened up and a ray of sun streamed down onto the Earth, all so Jesus in Gethsemane, but that didn't happen. Two nights sleep have just given me a little more perspective. I'm still mad, furious, a raging, furious, tempestuous ball of fury, and I think I know why. 

When I came out to my parents a few years ago, I expected that to be the end of it. I expected there to be this awful, earth-rendering day of reckoning between them and me. I came in guns drawn, eyes narrowed, saddles blazing. Battle ready. Mom and Dad really ended up surprising me, and while I didn't expect things to be easy or irrevocably damaged I did think there would be more of a fight. However, I also expected that to be "it," the worst thing I'd ever have to do, Judgement Day, and if I survived (and I always survive) I figured the rest would work itself out. In many ways it has. And just like any other process or event in any relationship we both made compromises. I made many because I wanted my parents to be on my side and I wanted to ease them into everything. We don't have to tell the family, everyone we know, talk about it all the time, basically you just know. 

The funny thing about knowledge is that it's not made to just sit. Once you know something you have power, for good or bad, but power nonetheless. Over the last 3 years we have entered into this strange truce, where as long as we can joke and not make any sudden moves and say "I love you," then everything should be great. But it's not. All those concessions and deals came at a price. They inadvertently told Mom and Dad that I wasn't proud, that we could keep things private, and in a way still in the closet. Don't get me wrong, the closet is a great place, and it's a necessary place to keep whatever skeletons until they're ready to be found. The longer that dead body stays in there though, the more it starts to sink and the more the ghost comes out to haunt, and especially in the gay closet; there's in or out. Halfway will kill you, because only gods were made to straddle two worlds.  

This anger is because of those compromises that I made when I saw coming out as the end of the line rather than the beginning. You see coming out never ends, because it happens everyday, especially once you're in a relationship. You come out at the restaurant, with the table for two, you come out at the store and you have to end up coming out again if you decide to bring that someone home. That's why so many people are either in or out, with no middle ground, the butch fag or the Nelly queen, because to be middle of the road, means you're constantly in danger of being run over. So here I am with someone (someone I'm rather fond of) and my family has no idea. Oh big deal, one might say, lots of parents don't know about their kids' love life. You'd be right if I was bringing home a girl, but me bringing home a boy and my sister bringing home a boy are two totally different things. Yes, in both instances the family is meeting someone who could potentially be the one, and that someone is meeting them. That is a big deal. Except for me my parents would expect that to be the one, and it opens up a Pandora's Box of worry for them. Is he being safe? What does it look like when they're together? Oh shit! It's not just a phase, and the like, at least that's what I imagine. So we just save each other and have instituted a "Don't Ask, Don't Tell" policy. 

So now, I'm sitting here with a relationship (with my parents) that I like. I feel loved and wanted and I know that they're proud of me (why wouldn't they be, I'm the only one of their children with gainful employment). Except that coming out didn't do what it should have. We can't talk about things, the real things. They have this perception that I must be so dreadfully unhappy because I tell them about what an uphill battle work is, or how high this bill was or that bill was. When they hear good things it's well I saved this, got to go here, got to do this. They have stopped asking "With who?". What kind of relationship is that? I'm angry at myself and angry at them, because they won't make it easy on me. You see part of the reason I'm mad is their fault, but I'm beginning to realize that a lot of it is mine, because coming out isn't winning the war. Coming out is the declaration, you have to fight to be free. 

Having trouble keeping my insides in

When I started writing this, I had hoped that I would never reveal too much, give my thoughts and show my unique voice without turning into one of those nuts on the internet who reveals too much about themselves. I like to think I'm pretty good at doing this. I'm never afraid to say what I think but I am afraid to say what I feel. Feelings are weapons and nerves and arteries that can be opened by someone else. After your feelings are exposed it's only a matter of time before someone has found a way to exploit them and leave you, the real, inside you for dead. But right now, all I feel is exposed and open, and while I can't say this to anyone's face out loud, not even when I know they love me, I can say it to space, to the anyonymity of the internet. 

My parents found out that my dad will be losing his right shoulder in three surgeries next week, which means he'll be in the hospital for Christmas, and not at home with us. My first question is "Can it wait?" and I'd be lying if it was because I don't want the holiday ruined. I know that's shallow, because well; in all honesty, I am shallow. Lord knows I like the gifts. I still wake up at 230 to peek in my stocking. Really though I love the decorations, and the lights and the candy and cookies and really despite the stress (that yes does always lead to small temper explosions in all the Bitners) Christmas was the time that I remember as being pretty consistently happy. There was one Christmas, four years ago, when my parents had to take all of our presents back, because they were losing their house and drowning in debt. That was o.k. We three kids bought gifts, and they weren't much, but it still worked out, still felt like Christmas. 

In the next breath though, my next question  was "Do I need to come early, what does this mean, what's going to happen?". This is the second time in less than 6 months that my parents have had a medical emergency. Since I'm their only child with reliable income, and the oldest, and the one that was told in middle school he could take care of things, it usually falls to me to pick up the pieces. At 13 I went to take care of my grandad after his heart attack. I was there for my grandmother's (and her monthlong hospitalization prior) at 15. I stayed for the next month after, and got to experience the emotional fall out that inevitably comes when a Bitner can't hold it in any more.  As much as I used to like it, that has not turned into a cross that is difficult to bear, especially when you can't live up to your own expectations. 

I think this is a recurring Bitner family trait. I know my dad is the same way, and in varying degrees so are my brother and sister. We all have a need to be the best and be validated by doing what very few can. We are hard and tough. We have been bred that way. Broken down and built up all at the same time. It's a volatile mixture. 

Four years ago, I was just under 120 lbs, and really, really, sick. Not only sick, but mean and hungry and not happy. I couldn't be perfect, but I hadn't come to terms with that yet. Now, four years later, seeing that need for control and not being able to control much else, even though I know it's wrong and scary and all in my head, I can't help but let the want to not eat, to run and work out until I feel good, come back to me. Sadly, I miss that power over myself. 

Being hard on myself (on what I expect myself to be) I am hard on other people, the public at large. More than once most people I know (sometimes even those I meet) call me an asshole. If I'm lucky my reputation preceeds me, and generally most people find I'm an asshole by default. Even more so, because I refuse to cry, to concede weakness or vulnerabilty, and trace of humanity if you will.  

When Queen Elizabeth I went to visit her cousin Mary Stuart, the Scots Queen, in a vain effort to get her to stop her conspiring, it is said that Elizabeth jabbed Mary with the insult that her own son would not raise an army to defend her, being the husband-murdering, vengeful bitch that she was. Mary responded, "You are cruel Madam." Good Queen Bess is reported to have shot back, " 'Tis the business of living that has made me so". I mean really, after years of wanting me to be this way, my parents should be the least surprised. 

You see ultimately, I miss being what used to be called, "a sweet boy." I no longer know who that is. I still push myself to be stronger, faster and better than I am, everyday. It seems that being whoever that sweet person was, he's just a ghost. For the most part, while I like parts of who I am now, I know he is undeserving of most things. It's like being on Santa's "Naughty" list, but there must be an accounting error because I keep getting chances. I keep having people who love me, and someone who is in love with me. I have money to pay my bills and a little in the bank, and that's a far cry to where I was four years ago, or two years ago, or even last year. Even then I got more than I deserve, more than most people are allowed, which surely means I am just borrowing blessings that one day I'm afraid, I'll have to pay back. 

I really have a lot of pent-up aggression. I'm not sure where this comes from. I know that in our house growing up there were always winners and losers. Those who did (and were valued) and those who did not (the people that you can exploit, conquer and kill...otherwise  known as the weak).  Obviously this mentality has stayed with me. The winners do well at work, are smarter, run circles around everyone else, and generally rage around like a bull in a china shop. I am this way from trying to live up to my father's (and my own) unreasonable expectations. According to my uncle you may not be Jesus, but you can die trying. 

You see, one of the worst things about teaching school is that No Child Left Behind (NCLB) has backfired. Inclusion (the practice of including the emotionally disturbed, learning disabled, children with severe behavior issues in a regular classroom) is a lie. Instead of inspiring this group of formerly-excluded children to behave like the children who are smarter, brighter and better, it has done the opposite. An evolutionary backfire as occurred. Those children who were once the creme de la creme are now back-sliding into mediocrity and soon, if not checked into inferiority. Instead of containing learned helplessness to a certain group of students who were helped by professionals trained to deal with them, we have spread the get-something-for-nothing mentality to almost 2 entire generations of American society. 

Don't get me wrong. In theory it's all well and good. If this group of kids see high-achievers they will be high achievers. But on top of taking out the professionals trained to handle these problems, and raising expectations, and throwing 30 kids into a room (5 or 6 of which could qualify as the 'inclusion' children) with a teacher who is not equipped to deal with them. Funding has been cut to bail out the perpetually stupid and because you no longer have to pay for the programs and or teachers that come with them. The point is though, that it makes for a tough day. Worse still is that by 4 pm I can hardly wait to work out, and let my mind go to something other than not being perfect that day, or losing my temper or being ridiculed and cussed out by a ten year old, or better still getting little or no praise from a boss who says education is her passion, but really only cares about how high her test score will be, and how that can translate into a lump sum in her bank account. And then the world just gets in my way. I hate that at the end of most days all I can do is sneer and hit and kick and scream in the middle of rush hour. I really hate that at the end of most days I can hardly stop feeling like I haven't done anything worthwhile or that I don't deserve what I have because I find myself treating my fellow man like shit, even if it is just a thought or grisly cuss word from behind my steering wheel. 

It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas

1. I prefer wrapping paper, in fact we are wrapping paper recyclers. 

2. I like artificial trees because it's easier to put on the lights, but who knows a tree one day.

3. I like to put everything up the weekend after Thanksgiving. 

4. Last year I got bored and took everything down Jan. 2. I also went on a cleaning jag and cooked. Awesome.

5. I have never had eggnog, and now I won't drink it because it has too many calories. 

6. I had many nice presents as a kid. I think when Ben and I both got GI Joes and random accessories that was the most fun.

7. My dad used to be the hardest one, Ben didn't ask for anything, and Chaz doesn't celebrate Christmas. Again, Awesome.

8. My sister is easiest to buy for...

9. Of course. I used to love putting out my parents' Nativity when I was a child. I had a sick fascination with Baby Jesus and The Christmas Story.

10. I have 3 boxes of cards, an update news letter, and 10 cards done. I'm not motivated.

11. My aunt and uncle gave us a Chia pet one year. The 3 of us, one Chia. Then we got World Map place mats. "We like to watch the news and see where the countries being talked about are"... riiiiight. We were all under the age of 10, that's exactly what we wanted. 

12.  Love Actually, National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation

13. I have not started yet. Maybe this weekend?

14. No. I am not above taking anything back. I'm usually list specific so it's your own fault if someone didn't pay attention. 

15. I love peppermint bark, pecan pie (we do one for Thanksgiving and Christmas) and cookies. Ok Ok, since I'm a fat kid deep down I really like the candy too. 

16. I like having white lights, since you can usually see the ornaments better. As a child however, I remember throwing a fit when we discontinued using colored lights. 

17. Away in a Manger (I feel like that nun in "Doubt" and the Little Drummer Boy

18. I am going home to Austin. We always have stayed home.

19. Dasher, Dancer, Prancer and Vixen, Comet and Cupid, Donner and Blitzen...(Rudolf)

20. I have a Santa spindle

21. Christmas morning. Last year we did it in the evening, and I hated it. I even wake up at 230 to look in my stockings.

22. I'm not longer in retail so, I'm liking the holidays this year. 

23. I do a family Christmas tree. I have some of my mom's ornaments from when she was a kid. They are little plastic snow globes. 

24. Tamales (duh, we're Mexicans)

25. I'm an American, I want every thing I see for Christmas. 

We Shall Fight

Today I couldn't figure out if the chill that we have here at work was due to the subfreezing temperatures or to the fact that my boss must be the iciest bitch I know. That's saying a lot given the fact that I myself have been known to make people burst into tears with just a look. 

I had any number of misgivings when I started this school year in August and I had stayed at my campus in the misguided hope that if I could just "do it better," things would be better. I had hoped that if i changed my attitude and outlook, kept my expectations high and gritted my teeth that I would some how make a good impression. My first year as a teacher was less than stellar, and my principal had taken much into account when renewing my contract, so I felt that I not only owed it to myself but to her to be better and that by "being better", I would some how land on her right hand side. 

The thing is this: just like the abused woman, the one picking herself up off the floor, having trouble breathing because her husband has just kicked her and broken a rib, I'm beginning to come to the realization that there are no rules. No matter how pretty I smile, how clean I keep the house (classroom) or how well I raise our kids (teach my students), I will still have to walk on egg shells, and wait until the beatings start all over again. 

Even more like the most desperate of housewives, I hang on to the kind words and wishes. I stay for the kids, and for that fact that right now, in the working world, I have relatively few options and no place to go. 

I think, though, that I'll have to be like Tina Turner. The only thing my insecure, fickle, no-good excuse for a boss, understands is bullying, because that is all she knows how to do. So I'm going to square my shoulders, carry my load and fight like hell to keep going because right that's the best I can do. It's no longer a matter of pride or dignity or liking someone. I am going to have to guard against the hate that this person must feel, and use it like a weapon against her. I imagine that even if I bring the temple down around me like Samson, at least I'll have shown Delailah she hasn't beaten me yet. 

Happy Holidays

This may sound awful, the kind of awful that you see in a Lifetime movie, but I love Christmas. The more I look back, the more I see the holidays (generally speaking) as the only time my father wasn't always raging at whatever. I mean sure there were the few Christmases money was tight (my parents sold their dining room suite to buy us gifts) but for the most part the Yuletide was a time of peace compared to the rest of the year. 

I don't know whether it's the memories from the ornaments who belong to so and so, or the warm glow of the lights, or placing the Holy Family (when I was growing up, the Baby Jesus) onto the hutch, but I just melt at Christmastime. In fact, I have to say that I went through all of this yesterday as the guy I'm dating watched, I'm sure just wondering how true it was when I said, "No, really Christmas isn't that big a deal."

Don't get me wrong, I come from a family where the gift giving was large and far too extravagant until my family's finiancial problems made us realize that it wasn't about what you got, but just the tradition of it. There was one year the the only gifts we opened were bought by us three, Ben, Erin and I. Don't get me wrong Christmas was a time to spoil us and I truly do still like that, but I like other aspects of the holiday as well.

I love that I feel so content during this time. I love the lights and the Christmas cards, and the parties and being able to appreciate people that I have a tendency to not thank well enough or often enough for their friendship during the year. Presents (at least with the fam, are the way I can do this). I still love getting stockings, and waiting for "Santa" to come. I love making treats and baking cookies and I even wish, silly though it may be, that my Dad would still write notes "From Santa" that we used to find magically in the morning. 

Despite what is normally hectic (even for me) and despite usually spending more than I should, I find that I like Christmas because I realize that "it" isn't always about me, but rather what I can give.