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One of the earliest memories I have of Christmas is not one of love and warmth or kindness, it’s that of cold-heartedness, of abuse, and of my Mum sitting in a dark corner, sobbing her little heart out.
The house was dark. It was very early, and as normal Christmases are I had been up far earlier than usual. I can’t recall the time because I was only about 4 years old. I remember I was very excited to be there. The tree was glinting with sparkly Christmas lights and there was a plethora of presents under it. The room was full of bright green and red decorations as my Mother and I had spent several hours decorating it a few weeks ago. I was 4. I think my concept of helping her was placing a bauble on the tree, but to me, I had helped a great deal.
I can remember spending time unwrapping all my presents. By now my family was well off financially. We were living in Eastern Russia, close to Siberia and My Dad was earning a fortune as an Instrument Engineer for Nuclear power. I remember getting a rocking horse that year, and it’s what I wanted. I was so excited. I jumped on it and began rocking it. I can remember by about now as I was gleefully enjoying my rocking, I could hear sobs coming from the corner. As I peered closer my Mum had begun to cry. She had been telling me it was tears of joy, but I knew different. Even as a four-year-old boy you know the different sounds of those closest to you.
Five months later we were back living with her Mum and Dad.
I’ll always remember that Christmas. Not because it was the one I received everything that I wanted but because it was the one that my Mum had finally decided she wasn’t going to take it anymore. She had been broken and she was past the point of no return. As an adult now, I fully understand what happened. That Christmas Dad had told Mum that he would be back to spend it with his family. Work was harsh and long in Russia, and for what we earned he certainly had to work for it, yet that year he just didn’t turn up. He just never showed.
Now you’re probably thinking whilst you’re reading this that he was away working, and choosing work over your wife and child is bad enough, but it was so much worse than that. He had flown back to the UK to be with his mistress. So Mum and I spent Christmas that year entirely on our own (because no-one celebrated it over there) whilst he was gallivanting with some anon. It sounds crazy even writing this.
I was too young for that to affect me back then, but it did at a later date. Knowing what had happened and connecting the dots through future discussions left me reeling in despair. How could any man abandon his own child on Christmas let alone his dear wife? It’s beyond me. Yet, it is what it is and that’s what happened. I sometimes despair at how it went down for me as a child.
My Mum spent a few days visiting me a few weeks ago and we went through old family photos, so I could show my family too. I delighted in glee as I was presented with pictures of the Kremlin and old mother Russia, yeah, that was a significant part of my childhood lost to me that had once again been found. It was a part of me that I thought had been lost to my Mothers bin — who could blame her, it was one of the worst times of her life. To my surprise, she had kept them. I caught some photos that I had never seen as a child. I had always been one for going through the family album, but these, I had never seen. I asked, “Who are those strange women?” and she said, “oh, those were the times when he went out before me when you were too young to travel. Those girls were Prostitutes” You know what? I didn’t bat an eyelid, neither was I surprised.
That’s what life was like for me for most of my childhood and a significant part of my Adulthood. My Mum had always installed good healthy values into me; never cheat, never lie, always try your best and so on. And there for all to see in all his glory was Dad, Married, with two other women on the go, wad of cash in his hand, buying every person in the bar a drink at Christmas. I can see why my values were somewhat skewed as a child. How I was constantly battling within myself the good values of my Mother and the bad values of my Dad. How I could see my Dad having an amazing life full of happiness, and well, it was tough living with Mum, we barely had two pennies to rub together.
Later I learned that what appears on the surface is never what it seems. That was in much later years though. My Mum did a damn good job with her morals. Here I am, living a full life, happily Married, committed to one woman and child and living the way I’ve always wanted to. Mum? She holidays twice to four times a year and has everything that she’s always wanted. Dad? Well, he’s dead now, and I will say that I’ve learned a great deal from the whole experience.
In life, there needs to be a balance. Respect that balance wholeheartedly. Too much of something is always a bad thing!
Christmas time is always tough for me, it always reminds me of my Mum sitting in the corner, sobbing. Yet. I’ll always say that those experiences which don’t kill us always make us stronger for the future. The same can be said for Mum and I. Dad was our teacher, in a weird messed up way!
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Photo Credit: Getty Images