Wishing You Poverty and Chastity this Christmas

By Amber W.

“Thank you for putting together such a great package, Class,” my teacher said.

I had taken several cans of corn and green beans from our pantry to add to the adopt-a-family donation my high school class put together. Some family, right here in our own town, was going to have a brighter Christmas. The bell rang and I was officially on Winter Break. I left through the double doors and walked the half-block home.

I walked slowly, in no hurry to make it back to the house. It had undergone a horrifying transformation in the previous month. Like a beacon to spacemen, the house was lit up on all sides. Several mechanical reindeer bobbed their heads up and down in the snow. The crabapple tree boasted about a million twinkling lights. Santa, complete with motion detector, waited at the door to greet me with an ass-shaking rendition of a song telling me he was coming to town. I stood in the driveway amazed at the work my dad had done and amazed at how much I hated it.

I gave Santa the finger and he told me I’d better watch out. My mom had attached huge bells to the front door, so my attempt at a stealthy entrance was foiled. I wiped my feet on a poinsettia welcome mat and went to wipe myself with snowman toilet paper. I washed my hands with holiday spice soap and dried them with a candy-cane-striped towel.

I went to my room and shut the door, blocking out all the flashing lights. I lit some incense to kill the smell of cinnamon and cheer. I turned on my stereo to drown out Celine Dion wishing us all a merry little Christmas. I buried my nose in a book until I was forced to come out of hiding. Dinner was almost ready and I was to set the table.

Each plate was painted with an overflowing sleigh, the glasses were red and green and the serving spoons were etched with more poinsettias. I sat the table, averting my eyes from the blinding light of the tree. The needles of the fake tree were no longer visible. My mother had masterfully covered every square inch with ornaments. There were at least thirty wrapped boxes: some for me, some for my brothers, some for my parents, and a bunch for the dog.

“Blankets?” I heard my mother say, as she and my father walked in to the kitchen, “What the hell do I need blankets for?”

“Honey, that is just what they gave us, we can’t be picky.”

“And I already have everything I need for dinner! I don’t need any of those damned canned goods!”

“What are you guys yelling about?” My youngest brother asked, before I could beat him to it.

“You know that your dad doesn’t make a lot of money so we signed up for a program to try and get you kids some more presents.”

My dad brought a package out of their bedroom. The box was eerily similar to the one I had deposited corn and green beans in to that afternoon.

“Oh my god!” I said, scandalized. “Seriously? We’re the poor family?”

“We qualified for the program,” my mother said, defending herself, “I was thinking of you kids. I asked them for a Nintendo because I thought you kids would love it, but they just sent us food and stupid blankets and a twenty-five dollar gift card to Wal-Mart. We did it for you. We did it for all of you.”

I didn’t hear a word she said. I clicked the “Mute Mom” button on my brain remote.

The dog received his plate of pot roast with all the fixings and we all held hands while my dad said thank you for the blessings, yadda yadda, blah blah blah.

My other kid-brother, the infamous middle child, was right on cue.

“Hey, does anyone else think it is a little jacked up that we are doing this?” He said.

“Doing what?” My father asked.

“Well, last year there was no tree, no dancing Santa and no jingle bells. We didn’t sing carols, we sat around and talked about how everyone in the world was a materialistic Satan-worshiper.“

“The Church was wrong,” my mother said, “They have the right to change their doctrine…”

“It’s all insane,” I interrupted, “There is a freakin’ nativity scene on the piano!”

“Both of you will stop this instant!”

I continued, “And what the hell is up with the care package? You have plenty of money for all of this stupid crap,” I did my best Vanna, “But not enough presents, so you have to sign us up for the poor-adopt-a-family-program?!”

“Young lady, I bought all of this stuff at garage sales.”

She must have been referring to those garage sales where everything has a price tag, and you receive a free Macy’s or Kohl’s bag with purchase. She forgot I took out the trash from time to time.

“Whatever,” was all I said.

I kept to myself as much as I could until Christmas morning. I admit to feeling a bit chipper when we sat around drinking hot chocolate and opening presents. My brothers each got a new stereo, so I knew I was getting something big, too. My big present came in a little box.

I opened it to find a gold ring. There were three hearts on it. It was cute, not really my style, but a nice gesture. I was about to thank my parents when my mother began an explanation of the ring. She told me it was very special. She told me that one heart represented me, one represented my future husband, and one represented my commitment to remain a virgin until I married. I choked on a mini-marshmallow. I had been given a chastity ring.

“Uh, wow, Mom,” I said. “That’s really… nice.”

“You will wear it until the day you are no longer a virgin and then take it off. That is how I will know.”

Holy-sweet-mother-of-baby-Jesus, I thought. My boyfriend had given me a ring too, the day before, right before I fucked him. I was seventeen and had turned in my V-card over a year earlier. My mother watched, expectantly, as I put the ring on.

A short while later, I sat outside with a new steaming cup of hot chocolate in hand. The neighborhood was completely still. Snow fell in big, silent flakes. I sat on a bench beneath the crabapple tree, fiddling with the ring and staring in to nothing. I felt like the devil parading as a nun. We pretended to be poor. I pretended to be chaste. We pretended that every holiday prior to this we hadn’t judged and mocked people who celebrated Christmas, calling them sinners and condemning them to an eternity of burning in a lake of fire.

We sent out gaudy cards, joined the Black Friday chaos, and even put a little wreath on the front of the mini-van. It was the first time I felt completely fake and completely out of touch with my family. It was my first Christmas.