In February 2024 this website crashed for no apparent reason. Despite using professionals at GoDaddy.com it was impossible to restore anything after October 2021 (over 100 posts). I do have many of those post in draft form (no final edit or photos) and I have decided to repost them in that manner. I apologize for typos and other errors. How do I feel about losing all of my original work? Life goes on.

When I was growing up, Norman Rockwell prints were a big thing. They seemed genuine, yet unattainable. The holiday prints were incredibly engaging. Dad carving a turkey on Thanksgiving, or a family bursting through Grandpa and Grandma’s front door on Christmas Day, arms full of beautifully wrapped presents. These were familiar scenes, but they didn’t resonate with my reality. They represented what I thought the holidays should be, and I wondered why my holidays were not like that. 

My expectations of life went beyond “Saturday Evening Post” covers. I was obsessed with the TV show, “Leave It To Beaver.” I looked at the Cleaver’s immaculate home that had the kid’s bedroom I wanted. I slept on the back porch growing up. They lived in the fictionalized town of Mayfield; I wanted to live on that backlot. I wished that Beaver’s brother, Wally, was my older brother.  Father, Ward Cleaver, was so wise and caring. Mother June Cleaver was stylish and sophisticated. Why couldn’t my mom wear pearls when mixing meatloaf for family dinner?

Years passed, I married, and then I divorced. I lived in a basement apartment euphemistically called a garden apartment many miles away from my family and my daughter. Combine this geography with my introverted nature, and holidays and special occasions were spent alone.

I can’t say I felt sorry for myself during those times, but I admit there was an emptiness. I don’t want to exaggerate. I did travel to see my family on Christmas; I would get invited to parties. However, I was alone when I woke up and returned to my little apartment with its asphalt tile floors in the evening. Norman Rockwell was not going to paint my life for a magazine cover.

Initially, I took a “soldier on” attitude to this situation, but that stance only went so far. Eventually, I decided on a new strategy. I would establish my traditions and customize them to improve them. If I could do anything without traditional restrictions, what would that be?

Some of my initial attempts were very simple. I realized that if I let people know my birthday was coming up, they would recognize it: a card, a piece of cake at work, or a Happy Birthday telephone call would come my way.

I started to expand that concept to minor holidays. I love corned beef and cabbage, but I wasn’t going to make an entire corned beef dinner just for me. I called a local restaurant and asked if I could carry out a corned beef dinner. They said yes, and I started the tradition of picking up one on my way home from work.

After many years, I remarried and had more children (I had my last child when I was 48!). During our early marriage, my wife, Julie would take the kids to Minnesota to see her father on Father’s Day. I couldn’t go as I was working. I felt sorry for myself, but then I created a new tradition. I picked up my sister Carol on Father’s Day (her husband had passed, and her kids were grown), and we would go on an adventure. We would choose a random road and drive off into the country, exploring small towns until dinner. Then, we would find an interesting restaurant and celebrate the day. I have fond memories of those times.

My life has been “traditional” for many years, but bending traditional expectations is still necessary.

We had a lovely Christmas this year but it wasn’t a Norman Rockwell one. On Christmas Eve, we drove 400 miles to see Julie’s family, and on Christmas Day, we returned to Illinois. Most of the holiday was spent driving. Naturally, we were treated to a Christmas Eve dinner and a Christmas Day brunch. However, our Christmas Eve lunch was at Culver’s (a regional burger joint), and our Christmas Day dinner consisted of gas station food. We celebrated our own family Christmas the day after Christmas, and will celebrate with our oldest daughter and her family tomorrow. Hardly classic, but still wonderful.

When I was growing up, I wanted a Leave It To Beaver life filled with Norman Rockwell holidays. I negated my ethnic urban life for an unrealistic fantasy. As time and maturity went on, I understood that my happiness was my responsibility. My reality was neither good nor bad; it was up to me to accept it or charge it to my liking. Longing for a fantasy life was not only unrealistic, it was harmful.

I tried to impart some of that knowledge to my patients during my working years. I had folks who would spend the holidays year after year with relatives who would demean them. Why did they have to do that? Others had estranged children who would reject them during the holidays. How could they focus on those who loved them instead of grieving those who didn’t?   Some were alone. What could they do to build their connections? Others were jealous of their friend’s holiday trips or expensive presents. How could they celebrate what they did have? And so it went.

Holidays are never perfect; no one lives in an Instagram world. We are all flawed and vulnerable. However, we are not helpless. We can accept the things we can not change. We often have the power to improve our situation. However, we can’t live in a fantasy. After all, that is why they are called fantasies.

Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays!

Mike