I never learned how to ride a bicycle.
My mom bought me one, but never taught me how to ride it. I mentioned this to her once, when I was grown. She looked at me with contempt and told me, “You should’ve taught yourself.”
If there is a child who taught him or herself how to ride a bike, I applaud them. I did not have to gumption to try such a thing. I was alone all the time and it was sad enough. I didn’t want to be alone on the ground with a scraped knee, or worse, crying with no one to hug me.
My ex-husband tried to teach me once, but I couldn’t get past the terror of letting go of my gravity.
My son Casey tried also, when he was about nine. I had to beg him to give up. It was like I was the child.
Some things are meant to happen in childhood. When you’re an adult, they’re so much harder.
Faith is like that for me. I wasn’t exposed to much in the way of it when I was little. Certainly not organized religion. We did celebrate Christmas, but to me it was a time when Santa brought gifts. I thought everyone had a Christmas tree – until I moved to the Five Towns. There, in second grade, I was questioned unmercifully by the other kids. They wanted to know if I was Catholic or Jewish. I had never heard of either of these things, but I desperately wanted to belong. I asked my mom about it that night. She said, “Tell them you’re agnostic.” She didn’t bother explaining, but even if she did it wouldn’t have mattered. Agnostic was not a choice!
I went back and said I was half-Jewish and half-Catholic. I wanted to be liked be everyone. Instead, no one embraced me.
There is probably more to this that I’ve blocked out. Our minds try to shield us from the little horrors of our youth. Suffice to say that faith was hard to come by, because I wasn’t quite sure what it even was.
My aunt was a late-blooming Buddhist. She tried to teach me. I loved my aunt very much, but her zealous, in-your-face method of meditation instruction was not kid-friendly. I really wanted to like it, but I didn't. I couldn't even understand it. All I knew was that you were supposed to say, “Mu.”
That I have been brought to any faith at all shows us that miracles happen. I do believe in God, but not in the traditional sense. I know there is a power watching over me, guiding me, taking care of me – if I let it. I call it "God" because everyone else does. I could just as easily call it "Harry."
All of this makes the holiday season a challenge. So many people have their religious rituals and traditions. Then there’s me – with a deep spirituality, but not belonging to any of the groups that bind people together. I tried being a Uniterian. I still call myself one. But after a few months of services I couldn’t handle it anyone. It felt confining. And redundant. The initial comfort I felt in the church was gone.
My children have no religion. They seem okay with it, perhaps because I explained the concept of religion to them and why they don't have one. I just couldn’t impose something on them that I couldn’t embrace myself. Casey went to the Uniterian Sunday School for a while. But he grew weary of it around the same time that I decided to stop attending services. It was good timing.
This is not meant to be a condemnation of organized religion. I’m simply saying that it’s not for me.
So what is Christmas without Christ? Well, it’s a time to show the people you love just how much you appreciate them. It’s a time for gratitude.
Even though I've come to this conclusion, I get very sad around the holidays. It’s like I'm walking a highwire above all my ghosts of Christmases past, and they're poised to engulf me - smother me - if I fall. And yet, I have to be a parent. Someone who provides guidance, without having known any - and solace, without having experienced any. I have no idea what I'm doing.
But the hardest thing is the very thing that redeems me.
Parenting is my saving grace. My children love me unconditionally, as I love them.
How can I be a good mother during the holidays? By doing what I do best: Loving my kids.
And taking that leap of faith: That everything else will follow.
