Unfortunately my family is celebrating Christmas again this year. For some, Christmas brings up wonderful memories of raindrops on roses, whiskers on kittens, and warm woolen mittens. I can't help but think of Christmas two years ago. This year I am asking for a rash, because the way I see it, it will be a little less irritating, but I probably wont get it anyway.
I arrive at my Grandma's house on Christmas eve, as I have so many years growing up, and as usual I am greeted by my family with "i'm sorry, have we met before?"
So my mother goes through the tedious process of introducing me to all my aunts and uncles.
"This is our Son Tony, he's an artist! Our daughter Roni, she will soon be an ASU graduate! And this is Mike, Tony's Friend."
I can't say it doesn't hurt but in some ways I have learned to appreciate the anonymity.
We sat around as we initiated the family's giving of presents, as we do every year.
My mother decided to kick things off by giving everyone in the family a warm woolen pair of pajama pants... As a cool Christmas morning in Arizona often get down to the low 70's. I was excited and began to remove my pants when I realized a startling fact. Tony had pants, Roni had pants, Roni's neighbor friend had pants, as did Tony's girlfriend. My mom even purchased a pair of pants for her astranged brother who stormed out of the house Christmas of '87, never to be seen again. She never let go.
No pants this year for Tony's friend Mike. As I stood there, pantless in the living room, a cool breeze tickled the hair on my legs. And I realized in that moment.
I am... Mike the Middle Child.