Day 327 - That Time of Year Again
It's that time of year again...when I write.
I have a rather limited formula for writing, I've discovered.
First, the best time to write is around Thanksgiving and Christmas, those two holidays where the forces of capitalism and community unite together with such unanimity as to wholeheartedly convince the world that the magic of love and family is real.
Have you ever wondered how these two holidays have become such a powerful suggestion of hope and nostalgia? Think about the music.
When was the last time that a truly original Christmas song gained lasting popularity?
The last one I can remember was "Christmas Shoes" released in 2000...and I still hate that song. There are no jingle bells in the chorus, no jovial vocal harmonies, no lyrics about snow or bearded kisses. Worse, it's uncomfortably reminiscent of the altar call formula with the steady walking tempo, more than a few key modulations, and climaxing into the plaintive chorus of young children's voices, all singing the intentionally gutwrenching lyrics about a boy buying a pair of shoes for his dying mother who is about to "meet Jesus tonight."
Truth be told, artists are constantly attempting that original Christmas composition that will "stand the test of time," but what that means is that the song must attain mass popularity to the point that it becomes a holiday staple for decades to come, leading other mainstream artists to release their versions of the song. The last person who really did that was Mariah Carey with "All I Want For Christmas Is You"......26 years ago.
Second, and perhaps more crucial than the first, is crisis.
Every good story needs a conflict between a protagonist and antagonist, and in this fantastic year of 2020, the conflict needs to be yuge, amazing, the likes of which has never been seen before. Let's not venture too closely to the rabbit hole of how I seem to consistently attract these conflicts, but suffice it to say that the January 2020 train fired up with legal action against an employer, chugged through unemployment and returning to college for my fourth degree, picked up speed at the sharp turn of spring with the closure of schools due to a pandemic quarantine before completely jumping the rails with two more child protective service calls, fighting with my college professors to not be assholes, asking for mediation with my ex (the source of the CPS calls) only to be served a lawsuit instead.
Today I am writing in the quiet of my still-somewhat-new apartment acquired to prove that I am providing my children with stability and yet there are no children with me today. Because after years of child protective investigations and the escalating conflict between me and the other half, Julian and Sophia have figured out how to wield their own power in the situation. All it takes is emailing a picture of an alleged grievance with dramatic declarations to their father to renew the perception that I may be dangerous to my own children. For the first time ever after nearly six years of divorce, I am $8K deep with legal responses and compelled to voluntarily relinquish my children temporarily until an amicus attorney can assess the situation to see what's really going on.
What's really going on is the abuse of conflict and parental alienation. But we're in Texas and Texas is not inclined to give that froufrou psychology a second glance without necessitating a traumatically long pattern of harm, and even then, only with the greatest of trepidation, lest the residents confuse this great state with that of the much-despised California.
So, let's review.
Stockings by the fire, sparkling Christmas tree and baubles of hope?
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It's that time of year again.
