Thinking about Christmas in October

I'm telling my dad tonight that I’m going to Vietnam in 3 weeks. I’ll try to explain why. I'll tell him that I’m missing Thanksgiving. I’ll miss walking through the woods with mom and Walt. I’ll miss sitting (or sleeping, rather) in the deer stand as dad keeps watch and mom drinks beer. I’ll miss mom’s stewed oysters and Aunt Gina’s sweet potatoes with brown sugar and pecans. I’ll miss the river, the red plaid curtains at the hunting camp, the fireplace and hot chocolate. Last Christmas, Santa brought the family a new boat. I haven't even been on it. Dad would be excited to take me for a spin. When I was 12 he taught me how to drive a boat. Some of our biggest fights during that time were on the water, us being stubborn and silly really. The disputes continue sometimes and though the subjects seem more serious—politics, jobs, religion—they still seem just as silly. How do you make them stop? I never see Walt.

I’ve missed Thanksgiving once before. I’ve never missed Christmas. The holiday has been the same in my family for 20 years, since we moved into our house on Evans Street. We listen to Christmas music, wrap presents, and decorate the tree. Walt and I put on the first ornaments at the same time and we use the same two ornaments every year. The tree is always the same—gaudy with old ornaments falling apart, too much tinsel, and fat, colored lights. Christmas night we have friends over, eat scallop chowder, go to church, and drink. The biggest dilemma is deciding who should drive to Church. No one wants to quit drinking. On Christmas morning Walt and I go down the stairs together. We used to hold hands. Walt insists on not looking at the presents that Santa has laid out on the couch. We must go through our stocking first and look at the crumbs Santa has left by the fireplace. We always have a tangerine in the bottom of our stockings. We never mention that Santa might not be real. Mom fixes a big breakfast and then we pass out presents under the tree. Almost every year it’s just the four of us—a single unit that get less and less time together over the years.

The worst part is if mom thinks I’ll be surprising the family for Christmas. If she thinks that somehow I just wouldn’t be able to miss the holiday with my family and so I’m catching a flight home. I’ve surprised them like this a few times before. She’ll wait and hope and say her prayers. And I wont come home.