Post Christmas Stress Disorder and the Drummer Boy

Sorry about the delay on this last one - it has been crazy around here during this busy holiday season.

As Spiderman I had to use my superpowers to save the Dahlins from themselves at another typical Harding avenue Christmas. However, I found that my good deeds were soon discovered which bore the full wrath of the Wolf Pack.

Little did I know what trickery was happening behind my back that would eventually add to the early onset of my pre-pubescent Post Traumatic Stress Disorder PTSD referred to by some as PSSD < more about that later.


Today happens to be the "Feast of the Epiphany" ...to us Catholics, this is a big deal!

Epiphany (Koine Greek: ἐπιφάνεια, epiphaneia, "manifestation", "striking appearance") or Theophany (Ancient Greek (ἡ) Θεοφάνεια, Theophaneia meaning "vision of God"), which traditionally falls on January 6, is a Christian feast day that celebrates the revelation of  God the Son as a human being in Jesus Christ.

 


The tradition we had in our family was to leave our dying two-dollar Christmas tree up, until at least January 6th every year so we could sing happy birthday to baby Jesus - believing that this was when the Wise Guys (the three dudes on camels had arrived from the orient) to present baby Jesus with kingly gifts.

 
Sometimes mom even had a present for each one of us to unwrap on that special "Holy Day of Obligation." 

It just meant more mayhem, more chaos, more wrapping paper and more stuff to get lost...and more opportunities for the Wolf Pack to turn me into a psychotic mess with their psychological warfare. 

Let me take you back two weeks to Christmas when my brothers, acting like Wolves, begun attacking the presents as if ravaging a dead caribou.




Christmas 2:00 am:  After we found Kjersten who had been buried under four feet of Christmas wrapping paper (the story of the emerging hand that scared the cheese out of Dooh-Dooh Pants and almost made Pinky suffer a heart attack who had collapsed and smashed a perfectly good recliner into smithereens blog post Dec 25, 2013) I needed to spring into action.

I felt for sorry mom's devastated plans and dad's demolished second-hand-chair and the collateral damage of our fallen "Charlie Brown Tree"and the subsequent damaged and lost presents.

The older boys had made fun of me, because I liked to help mom and dad around the house. For some reason I was embarrassed by the mountains of dirty dishes and by the hurricane of scattered debris in the wake of the uncaring peace-loving hippies who cared only about the "Mexican Tomato Plants" in the backyard. The junk, the trash, the boxes, the clutter, the car parts - though they professed love for mother earth and hugged lots of trees, none of the stuff that mattered to my parents seemed to matter to them.

I tried the best I could to help.  I really did...and I think mom and dad really appreciated it...only this made the older boys and Matilda (Queen of the World) even meaner. The Wolf Pack would call me names and say things like.."Oh, Markie you'll make someone a good wife some day." Hahahahaha they would laugh, taunting me mercilessly.  I have to admit, it was awful and it did hurt (no matter what the whole "sticks and stones" ditty tried to say about how name calling doesn't hurt). So I  pretended the best I could that none of their spiteful teasing bothered me.

In our house, Emotionless-Swedish-Stoicism ruled the day. You dare not show any signs of weakness or you would become the wounded caribou for the next terrifying feast of the blood thirsty Wolf Pack .

After the Kjersten episode - I slowly, carefully, and methodically sneaked around the crammed living room that had been carelessly piled high in shards of wrapping paper. Over the years, we had lost a little sister...thrown out a dog along with hundreds of presents and I didn't want that to happen. To throw away presents was not only like throwing away money...but it was also an insult to the gift giver. My parents were depression-era kids who didn't want to throw anything away and so this was a big deal to them.

I was determined to use my super powers to help mom and dad.  With my "Spider senses" on high alert, I moved about the room stealthy and removed one piece of  torn paper at a time.  I had cleverly placed empty Market Basket shopping bags strategically out-of-the-way around the outskirts of the living room. Bit by bit I picked up scraps and secretly shoved them into the brown grocery sacks.

Over and over and over...bit by bit...piece by piece... I threw trash away - trying not to bring attention to myself as if cleaning up after the ravages of a hurricane.  It was a daunting and endless task - yet, the mountain of discarded wrapping paper grew at a rate faster than my rate of progress.

Ulrich lifted his hand once to catch a flying present and I dropped and took cover. It seems that - making me flinch was one of his favorite things to do.  If anyone within a five foot radius of me raised a hand suddenly, I usually flinched and covered my head (that had become a pretty embarrassing habit at school). Anyway, mom had put on the Lennon Sisters new album on the Hi-Fi stereo and the added noise helped to conceal my efforts to restore order.  Over and over I picked up trash trying to liberate lost toys and presents and baby sisters and dogs, but pile never got smaller. 

Harder and harder I worked.
Higher and higher the pile grew.
 The Lennon Sisters were singing the "Ode to Billy Joe"   I don't know what the song was about, but I felt about as frustrated as O' Billy Joe McCallister.

The Lennon Sisters sang... the boys tossed presents around the room, tore off the paper and threw the wrapping in the middle of the room with the cockeyed Christmas tree and the flattened recliner-chair.

Laughter
Paper
Paper
Laughter

Over and over.

I tried to use my superpowers to please my parents, but my Spider-senses tingled and told me something was dreadfully wrong - there was a uncomfortable lull - a disturbing silence like the calm before a storm. I looked up from the formidable task at hand only to find 15 sets of eyeballs staring directly at me as though I had been a lab rat trapped in one of their cruel experiments.

Laughter
More this time...
Unbeknownst to me, they had been systematically pulling the very same trash (that I had been relentlessly stuffing in the bags) out of the bags and throwing the trash back into the middle of the room - when I wasn't looking.

Again, the runt of the litter, became the brunt of this particular Christmas Wolf-Pack torment.  I didn't understand it, but quietly slipped away and took my new "Rat-Fink" ring and placed it at the foot of the manger...believing I was there with the wise men as the drummer-boy, paying my homage to the new born KING!  

Bing Crosby and David Bowie Drummer Boy


Oh, yeah PSSD is Post Sixties Stress Disorder.  It was 1968 and I was hoping to make it out of the Sixties alive!


 Android users click here for Ode to Billy Joe

"Mama hollered out the back door "y'all remember to wipe your feet"
And then she said "I got some news this mornin' from Choctaw Ridge"
"Today Billy Joe MacAllister jumped off the Tallahatchie Bridge"
'n' Papa said to Mama as he passed around the blackeyed peas
"Well Billy Joe never had a lick of sense, pass the biscuits, please"