Posted: Monday, December 27, 2010 7:57:34 PM
I hear stories of how much my grandparents had to struggle to get by. About how they worked two jobs and never came home, and how there would be no presents under the tree because they had to save up for protection against Jack Frost's chilling breathe and an empty stomach's grumbling. They all tell me how much they had to work to make it to where they are today. They didn't get to eat from silver spoons. We should feel lucky. Grateful.
Walking downstairs on Christmas morning, seeing the presents that were bought just to be bought, just to make the pile bigger and our smiles wider, I have a hard time imagining anything else. I eat my honey-glazed ham with a sterling silver fork, and my phone coughs in my pocket. A daughter of two divorced doctors, this year for Christmas I got two houses, two pools, to bedrooms to decorate how I please, double the Christmas cookies, double the presents, double the ease of living. I don't think about it. I don't question the tiny piece of plastic that grants me all my blessings.
I hear tales of my grandparents and how hard they work. How they never ate off silver platters.
I worry that one day, I won't be as grand as them. No one ever mentioned the little green pieces of paper, or lack of them, could be a teaching tool.
I worry that one day, we'll notice that a little Xbox in the center of the room is maybe not the best mode of entertainment. I worry we'll never see the benefit of a game of hopscotch or hide and seek.
It is my fear that one day, when we realize that checks have numbers and credit cards have bills, it'll be too late to unplug that extra charger or go swimming in the scorching hot heat.
I never thought that money could be poison.But with every torn piece of wrapping paper, I'm beginning to feel it burn, burn, burn at the edges of my fuzzy pink brain.
I feel bad that they worked so hard, just to watch us mindlessly eat their dough and sleep in the bacon they so carefully carried home. When I meet their eyes at the dining room table, elegantly covered in red cloth and candles, I lower my eyes, hoping they didn't see the tropical hurricane that swarmed through the living room as an aftermath of Santa's blizzard.