My dad... Crazy topic for me any time I talk about my family. Like all of us its a mixed bag of failures and successes. At one point 6 of the last 8 Christmases were spent with him in a coma from a combination of diabetes, drug running and spider bites. His desperation to use Christmas as a time to make up for every other day's failures as a parent bent the holiday in my mind, and those of my sbilings into the most dreaded recurring day of the year. It came with Dread. Not because Dad was trying too hard, but because of the albatross relationship my mother had with him, and his inability to be a grown up would create a unique nightmare with each yule tide approach.

In my own life I am slowly learning not to dread the cheerful holiday run that comes at the end of each calender. My kids give me a good reason to do so. At one point I would volunteer every christmas to work and hide within the safety of the massive concrete walls that stould between me and the world. It was a refuge for me, Santa couldnt get me inside of the warehouses and I felt safer. Withdrawing like taht though does not do my children any wonders, they see the years of worry and consternation on my face from the annual pains. So I am learnign to welcome it, I can honestly say this year is my first I can remember where I looked forwrd to it, and hold no anger towards the big guy in red. I no longer curse the skies in the winter damning and hoping he would spiral out of control and land near my house so taht i could go to town on him with an axe handle and a gallon of kerosene.

Rest in peace Dad...