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PAST, PRESENT & FUTURE
"I will live in the Past, the
Present, and the Future!"
said Scrooge.
"The Spirits of all
Three shall strive within me!" Charles Dickens (1812 - 1870), A Christmas Carol (1843), Stave Five As I grow older I find it more difficult to live in the present and look to the future when I crave to return to the past (but only the good past, not the painful part of that past), especially during this time of year when I can truly enjoy the Spirit of the holidays aside from all the commercialism. I usually lump the last three holidays (Thanksgiving, Christmas and New Year’s Eve) as one large festive gathering when we really need to be thinking of other’s welfare and not our own; to be thankful and grateful to a loving and merciful God for the blessings He has bestowed upon us. Christmas, in general, has never been good to me, as I sometimes find myself dwelling on those past Christmases that were some other life time ago. I can’t even recall how many New England Christmases that our family would be fighting; mother to father; sibling to sibling; parent to sibling, just before we would open the presents with exchanged forced smiles upon our faces. I would sort of step outside of myself to take in the scene, and wonder why we were going about this ritual when it seemed to be so meaningless to us, and how I longed for the day I would escape the madness. Of the Christmas of 1979 when my childhood sweetheart had informed me she had fallen in love with another woman, and kept asking myself through the tears what I had done wrong; asking the same question again some five years later when I found another love I wanted to marry, in bed with another man. Where was the Spirit of Christmas then? And then there are those Christmas times when Death decides to pay a visit.... Of the Christmas holidays 25 years ago when myself and a group of fellow students were filled with the Spirit of Christmas as we began walking away from Rockefeller Center, where we had just seen the lighting of the tree; the skaters dazzling us in the rink below, singing the traditional carols through the skyscraper streets, only to come upon a roped off scene a moment later filled with blood and tragedy, where people in the crowd made mention in mumbled tones that John Lennon had just been shot. A young up and coming struggling singer was also in the crowd with us, who went only by her first name, Madonna, was just as dumbfounded and grief stricken as the rest of us. And it wasn’t that many Christmases later when the one relation that was close to me than anyone else was finally able to return Home. In Italian, I called her nonn, because as a child just learning to speak, I couldn’t pronounce grandma. To escape my hostile environment at home, I would spend school breaks and Summer vacations with my grandparents. Although I was required to attend Christmas with my own family (never did figure out who made that rule), I was usually at nonn and pop’s place shortly thereafter. We just had a great time sharing in each other’s company, and even after my grandfather died, I was always there to keep nonn company. When the news reached me that she had passed away about a week before Christmas, I actually thanked God for giving me a gift I could appreciate and remember with great fondness. Then there was that Christmas Eve a few years later, which found myself driving along a snowy Connecticut road in my ‘69 Chevy Camero, dressed like a proud peacock, on my way to the midnight Mass, when I came upon a drunken man stumbling and straining to stand and walk, only to find himself return face down in the wet, dirty, slushy snow; his bare chest exposed to the elements. I watched him in my rear view mirror, lying there on the side of the street, thinking what a tragic waste he was, and that he’d be better off dead, as I was making my way to church.... ....until I was mystically reminded of the story of the Good Samaritan that made me turn the car around to where this pathetic figure lay. Picking him up off the ground, he neither felt the cold nor wet; his face an unrecognizable, bloody mess; obviously the work of a barroom brawl, as I gently eased him into the front seat of my sports car, prodding and shaking him into some sort of coherent senselessness; repeating, screaming my request for directions to his place of residence, until he finally mumbled the information needed to see him home, where a grateful woman helped him inside, thanking me profusely, to which I could only smile and quibble, Think nothing of it, before departing. Needless to say, I had missed the midnight Mass, and was all dressed up with no where to go, but upon reflection, instead of hearing a sermon, I had lived one.
Well dressed in my holiday attire, I shook my head at the senseless situation, as I peered into the passenger side of the now demolished automobile where two giggly, drunken teenagers were positioned in some sort of strange Twister fashion; difficult to tell in the dark who’s arms and legs went with whom. Noticing fuel spilling out from the gas tank, I decided to save the conversation and pleasantries and just reach in and grab what I could and pull them out one at a time; hurrying to get them far enough away from an impending explosive situation. By the time some of the neighbors had ventured out, and hearing the sound of sirens in the near distance, I decided my job was done and quietly left; the two young men still in a giggle state of mind, lying near a curbside. Recently, the last several Christmases have been more of a reflection of what had just past during the year and what I was looking forward to in the coming months ahead. Usually they would be memories filled with recent accomplishments and rewards, and how I was going to build upon them. But as I grow older, I find that I hate change more. The increasing enemies in my life have become Death and Sin and how I hate to be living in a world filled with those two adversaries, and be reminded in cruel terms that with sin comes death, and that the two shall be forever intertwined until we go to a Place where Death and Sin are barred from ever reaching us. There’s nothing we can do about sin. Death knows this and thus can do what he freely wants. Laughing and enjoying our grief; our tears, and never more so than if we have lost a loved one during this special time of year. And if by chance we should have been affected by Death earlier in the year, the holidays seem to hit us a bit harder, as we are reminded that it’s at this particular time that we can’t share the joy as we once did with past holidays. I have always said that there should be some sort of universal Law where Death takes a holiday the last two months of the year, and leave us in joy and happiness, instead of pain and grief. I find this happening to me even now as I write these words during this particular Christmas, with the familiar carols playing in the background, that even after nearly six months I still miss my little Lhasa Apso girl, Jia Chou Tu, who loved me unconditionally; who just wanted to be around me so that I could hold her and love her; to snuggle beside me for warmth and comfort... I go about my business. I do the tasks at hand around the ranch without much thought, glancing over toward her tombstone with the heart shaped rock that God provided as a monument and testament to what we once shared, and think about what a lonely, unfulfilled life I’ve really had up to now. The accomplishments, rewards and material possessions are not what make me who I am, but rather, it’s how I am able to love and be loved that matters the most, and what I miss the most... It just took a dog to make me realize that I walk this world half a man, searching for that other part to complete me like some Holy Grail. Perhaps I’ll never find it, but at least I do know that I can love and be loved, even if sometimes I think it’s an impossibility. And that’s what these last three holidays; this collective holiday season means to me.... that we’re better off; more richer for the experiences we have received and that we have Hope in what we’re about to receive. And through it all, we know with self assurance that the Lord is the Guiding Force in which we can rejoice with a universal Amen! May we all remember the Reason for this, and every, Season. Until Next Month and Next Year, Kevin |
I had been able to live
another sermon a few Christmas Eves later when I came upon a foreseeable
accident, as I was about to meet some friends at a classy pub-restaurant near
Yale University. On a stretch of road, a vehicle was coming toward me in a
swerving, drunken manner, which proceeded to flip over several yards from me.
Pulling of to the side, I was the only one that could offer immediate help, as
houselights began to turn on in the neighborhood.