Family Tree

Family Tree

                    The Christmas holiday season had always been a joyous occasion for me. In younger years it was an anticipatory sort of expectation that swallowed me whole the Eve before. Santa Claus became a myth only due to my father’s unintended display of where the gifts were hidden the night before. Even though I knew it was a fallacy that a rotund white-bearded man slid down the chimney at midnight to deliver carefully wrapped packages under the tree, the excitement still remained. Like every child, I tried hard as I might to stay awake long enough to see him. And like every child I fell asleep as soon as I began to hear the shuffling of movement downstairs in the living room. Christmas morning came and spurred me out of bed to fly down the steps and investigate my fair share of presents. Waking my parents and dragging them groggily downstairs to see what Santa had left was second nature. It had always been a time to sit and enjoy the essence of family.
                    When I grew older, and my life turned events, things were different. Smiles on Christmas day faded to only greed and wondering of if my stepmother and my father had gotten me the things that I had asked for. When I learned of the greater gift of giving, I had to convince my dad to give up extra money to spend on gifts for the family and put my name on them. It felt good to see them open their presents from me, but it always lacked a sort of genuine quality. Though the recipients of my gifts always thanked me, it was evident that they weren’t truly satisfied. I never knew what it was like to sacrifice my own hard-earned money. I never knew the difficulty of picking out an item that I thought someone would truly enjoy. Nor had I ever learned how to listen to what interested people so I would know what sort of gift would please them most.
                    The gift giving and receiving were not the parts of Christmas I enjoyed the most, however. As it had been in my younger years, it was the time spent and shared with my family that made it such a happy holiday. My stepfamily never offered me the comfort and kindred spirits that made me feel joy. It was the presence of my father and the true peace that glittered in his eyes on that day that made me feel at home; the one day of the year that I ever did feel at home in that house. The rare occasions that my brothers ever made appearances at the house for Christmas morning gift-opening enhanced my feelings of solace. For I knew I was truly with family and that they truly enjoyed being near me. Without them, I knew that Christmas would never be the same. But I didn’t truly realize that until the year without.
                    My father died of his final heart attack on May 16, 1998. It was also the night of my senior prom, and four days before the ten-year anniversary of the death of my mother. The few hours I spent with my father before the moments of his passing were a time I remember and appreciate, and will for years to come. The night he died brought a great weight down upon my shoulders that shattered the world I knew and was accustomed to into more pieces than I could easily put back together. My true family took it hard, and they turned against my stepfamily. Many could not forgive them for the pains that came afterwards, and many never will. More and more my world drifted apart, because I was forced to live on the line between the battlefront. There never were many choices for me. I had just graduated high school and was at a loss on where to go from there. The little money my father had saved for me in a trust fund needed to be spent to purchase a car so that I could move on. What little money that remained was not enough to provide a place for me in the future. Therefore, I had to get a job.
                    In August of 1998, I acquired a job at Sam’s Club in North Canton, Ohio. For once in my life I knew what it was like to work hard and earn my own money. I learned what it was to pay bills and provide myself with the essentials necessary for living. It was a forced learning that at the time I was not certain I was prepared for, but it also gave me something to think about other than brooding over the past. My paychecks were large enough for me to spend and save. Though as any young mind is bound to do, I spent much more than I saved. A large amount of my funds were spent on things for myself, such as clothing and interesting oddities that caught my eye. However, there were rare occasions in which I purchased things for others, things that I thought they would appreciate. There are few times in which I remember ever seeing happiness and thanks from them. As a matter of fact, I can only consciously think of one such a time: Christmas of that same year.
                    When December rolled around, I began to make myself a list of all those that I held dear to me. I even added a few names that I felt obligated to include, for the simple fact that they too had sacrificed their money to buy gifts for me. For once in my life I listened to small discussions that I had first believed insubstantial. They were the kind of friendly conversations between two or more people that pointed out the likes and dislikes of certain individuals. Slowly I began to spend more and more time at the shopping mall and picked up things that were not too cheap and not too expensive. For some people I bought simple items that are common to the season, such as gift sets of mugs and coffee. For others I picked out more ornate and decorative things that I knew would bring lights to their eyes. My list dwindled to only a very few. There were two that I had the most difficult time of deciding for; my Grandmothers from my true parents’ sides.
                    Christmas steadily rolled in, and I found myself walking the mall more and more than I deemed satisfactory. I traipsed past stores and glanced through the windows with little interest. Where to stop? What to buy? What would show them that I loved them more than anything in the world? These are the thoughts that echoed in the back of my head. Ideas lacked. As I walked past the store called Things Remembered, my eyes caught on something that they nearly overlooked. I took a few more steps until that little bell rang in the back of my head screaming for my attention and stopped me dead in my tracks. One leg hovered in the air in halted forward momentum. After a pause I swung it behind me and took three long steps backwards. I turned and stared into the interior of the store. There it was, shining with a magnanimous light that existed only in my vision. An incomplete tapestry hung off the back wall. All it needed was my finishing touch.
                    Cautiously I walked deeper into the shop and maneuvered the many buyers towards that wall. My hand reached out to touch it, but was stopped by an invisible wall. The picture that had been stitched into the throw was of a tree with several outstretched but empty branches. At the top was an unimportant name to stand as an example for what could be sewn into the material. I counted the spaces between the empty branches to find the number a perfect seven. My father had six siblings; that Grandmother had given birth to seven children. I imagined the names of all of them resting between those branches. Subconsciously I put the names in order and arranged them from firstborn to last, and in place of the false name at the top of the blanket I put my family’s name. My hands came together, fingers interlacing tightly. A smile crept up the corners of my lips. Tears tried to squeeze through my eyelids, but I held them back. It was not the time nor place for tears, and the wrong emotion entirely.
                    When at last I could pull myself away from the example throw rug, I looked for an employee to help me out. Being the busy season that it was, and my height not helping anyone to pick me out of a crowd very easily, it took one quite a while to notice me. Without hesitation, I pointed out the tapestry and asked the girl how much it would cost to get one like it. The price was quite an outrageous one, but I spared no expense on ensuring my purchase of it. I explained to her the names, the arrangement, and how important it was that I had it soon. We worked out the time of completion and the final cost. When it was done, I put my down payment in and left. For the week or so afterwards, impatience ate at me like a starving vulture. When I told my brothers about it, they each asked if it would be okay to pitch in some of the final cost so that they could also put their names on the gift tag. I did not mind. For once I proved myself the one with the better brain, because they still had not found an item to give to our grandmother. Besides, in years past my father had always gotten one large gift to give to her from the entire family. It was another way to share the happiness we had all lost once again.
                    After much unnecessary waiting, I finally received the finished product without a problem. The company that produced it to my specifications had done a splendid job. I looked at the tapestry with glistening eyes and ran my fingers along the fabric in a way that mothers did towards newborn babies. It was perfect. I paid them the final price and took it home to wrap. The care I took in taping the paper together was equivalent to that of a mother cleaning her baby’s diaper. I wanted everything to be as perfect as the item within the paper.
                    It has always been tradition on Christmas Eve for all members of the family on my father’s side to meet at one house and spend the evening together. All six of my aunts and uncles, their children, the children of those children, and my Grandmother went. The only person who did not go was my stepmother, leading more to the suspicion and dislike of her from my family. Regardless of her excuse, none of them took her lack of presence lightly. For me, it did not matter. My only care was to feel that same family happiness that I had for the many years spent with them before. I went with an armful of gifts for all of my aunts and uncles. There were even a few for my nieces and nephews, and the children that I adopted as such. The others that I did not know so well lacked a gift from me, but they did not seem to care. The relatives that did receive them thought that it was not necessary. All I could say was, “This year I have the money, and I wanted to get you something. So stop complaining.” They did, and thanked me with that same hollow statement that I had gotten many years before. Their gifts were the simple mug sets, not quite as ornate as the other. But it made me smile to know that they at least accepted them.
                    I waited with the same sort of anticipation a child does on the opening of his own Christmas gifts as I watched my grandmother. Unable to be patient a moment longer, I nearly threw the present into her hands. “Here,” I said with a plastered smile. “This is from me, Mike, and Keith. Open it.” She looked at me with a look in her eyes that nearly spoke of her lack of expectation. Her hands wrapped around the package as she looked from me, to my brothers, and then to the gift. I walked slowly backwards, retreating to a corner. Would she like it? The question ran through my head over and over. Hiding behind the banister, I peered over the curve of the wood to watch. Please let her like it, I thought. Ever so carefully she peeled away the tape, as if the paper itself were a precious commodity. She opened one end like an envelope and slowly slid the throw free of its confinement. At first she ran her hand across the fabric lovingly, and then she graciously unfolded it to get a better look. I watched with a wide smile upon my lips as her hands shook. Her eyes glistened with moisture, and they glowed with a light that I rarely saw in them. She pressed the tapestry to her breast and looked at my brothers and I. The words she mouthed lost their voice, but I knew what she said regardless. We locked eyes for a moment. “You’re welcome,” I said softly. Her smile brightened the room with a new kind of luminescence. The tears finally broke free and rolled down her cheeks in an unyielding stream of joy. Then she pulled the throw away from her shakily so that she could show it to the rest of the room.
                    My father may have been gone from the world physically, but I knew that her children would always be with her. His name stood out like a beacon so that she would never forget. All seven of her children would be with her forever. I have always been told that a parent should never outlive their children. Pain and joy mingled in her tears. The reminder of his absence would pain her, but I knew that the memories of him would always bring her joy. In her mind, he had given her three wonderful grandchildren. I was glad that I could prove that to her, and I was glad that she appreciated my gift more than she could tell me.