David McElroy

making sense of a dysfunctional culture

family

As Christmas starts getting closer,
I miss the joy I felt for family trees

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The little girl’s name is Lucy. I’ve spoken to her father a few times and he’s a kind man who seems very close to his daughter. I rarely see the mother, but they were all three there tonight.

They all looked happy.

The family live around the corner from me and my Lucy and I pass their home on our walks every night. (When the little girl first met Lucy last summer and discovered they had the same name, she was delighted. Their shared name gave her the courage to pet Lucy and giggle over how soft she is.)

Tonight, the curtains were wide open in one of their front windows. As they decorated their bright and colorful Christmas tree in a darkened room, they had opened the curtains to share the beauty of what they were making with the world.

They had no idea that my Lucy and I were in the shadows outside watching them, but I stood there in the frigid wind and rain sprinkles for a long minute — as my heart took in the warmth and joy of a family at Christmas, something which I haven’t experienced for myself in so many years.

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Until I can have the family I need, I’ll spend my Thanksgiving alone

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I will spend Thanksgiving taking photographs. I’ll also eat some turkey and dressing. (It will be cornbread dressing made with the Southern Living recipe.) I’m probably going to a movie, too.

My day will be much like Thanksgiving for millions of Americans, but with one major difference. I’ll be spending my day alone.

Since I have no family of my own, I get invitations from kind friends every year to join their families for the day. I’ve had at least three sincere offers this year, including one as I left the office Wednesday afternoon. I always feel a little guilty turning down their kind offers, but the truth is that I’d rather be alone.

That’s misleading, though. What I’d really love — more than anything else in the world — is to spend Thanksgiving and every holiday with a wife and children who I love. But if I can’t have that, I’d rather spend the day alone — until I can finally start building the family I want and need.

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Once you taste what is possible, you can’t accept being ‘normal’

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As far back as I can remember, I’ve wanted to be great. But as soon as I was old enough to understand ego and humility, I felt guilty for wanting to be great.

I was 5 years old when it first consciously occurred to me that I might be important. I’m embarrassed to tell things such as this — because it can sound like childish immaturity — but there was more than that to what it felt like.

I was outside of our home on Holly Hill Drive in Atlanta. I was studying the foundation of the house and trying to figure out how the house was built. Suddenly, it occurred to me out of the blue that there were five people in my family and that I was now 5 years old. Somewhere in my immature little brain, this seemed important.

This coincidence made me feel important. And for the first time in my conscious memory, I was struck by the feeling that I had a responsibility — not to myself and my ego, but to others — to do something meaningful. I had an intense desire to do something important — to be someone important — and to somehow give my life great meaning for the world.

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