Why do the holidays always make me think of the whys and why nots of the metaphorical bombs I drop or would drop in the middle of the family tree amongst gasps and stares, the “Who knew?” on everyone’s lips…
It’s not that I have grenades to lob, necessarily, only that they wouldn’t understand, would see my words as the ramblings of the blackest sheep, the one we thought we knew, that we never knew at all.
After all, they made up their minds long ago, who they were, who I am, and these minds will never change. Some can never change, it would mean the giving up of all they once knew, and not gonna go there, no way, no how.
So, what’s better, lob the bomb and watch the shrapnel fly? Or allow them to keep on going on with their false notion of who I am, of what it is. Is it worth it in the end? Probably not. Likely not. Nothing good to come of it, nothing at all. Simply the satisfaction of being me, of watching the chips fall, of confirming their judgment and lack of understanding. It is what it is. It has always been thus.
Far better to just go on being me, a me so different from them as to defy all of their imaginations. Perhaps my time is better spent trying to understand why I even want them to understand. Why such a need to be felt and understood? Who cares? I mean really. Just my own neurosis acting up again. Pat it back down until the next holiday. Pack it away again, stuff it in a stocking.