my childhood feels like it’s eating up my life & i can’t figure out how to appreciate it

On the East Coast of the United States, you might think there would be snow in December. There hasn't been since I was little--since I belted out “Let It Go” with a flourish and confidence I haven’t matched since then. Maybe this lack of snow is because of global warming or maybe it's just how it's always been and those younger years were an accident or maybe it’s because I gave up trying to use my magical Elsa-esque snow abilities.  

I have lived here, by the bay, since then, before then, and until I am old enough to leave.It’s not that I hate it here. It just feels like my life has never really begun, at risk of, once again, sounding like Elsa or some other Disney princess--I don’t know why I keep mentioning Elsa.  

Here, the first week of December is taken over by rehearsal. Why? Since, for some reason, the local community theatre insists that as soon as the turkey leftovers are put in the fridge, the Christmas show needs to be ready to bottle the joyful tears of critics. As if a single local newspaper actually puts critical analysis into their reviews. As if any of the people coming actually care if it's good or bad; as if they just don’t just want to see their kids on the stage--a stage that's actually just a gym with some risers because of money issues. During this first week of December, the teenagers wear pajamas to tech week rehearsals and are tired from finals. This is the first year I've been tired too, after starting community college and all. I still don’t wear pajamas to rehearsal, though. Mostly because I hate to not be all dressed up. Also because the other teenagers at the theatre don’t care if I do not join them in their ancient tradition. I’ve been acting in the cruddy little community theatre since I can remember, but the other teenagers are simply fine with me being there. They don’t care if they’re friends with me, or if I’m a part of the group. No pressure, but also no friendship.  

Also included within these December days, community college is strange. I've been homeschooled all my life and now I'm dual-enrolled there. Even though the freshmen class is the smallest it’s ever been, the students there spread the full spectrum of oddness. One man in English who looks more like a boy always wears a suit to class. Hockey Mom is, you guessed it, always asking for deadline extensions and asking questions on everything because she is a hockey coach and a mother and she does not have time for this and you better know it. Then there’s Criminal Justice Dude who seems to think he's the professor of sociology.  

 I march in the small parade in this small town--almost 6,000 people. I’ve been marching in this parade since I started doing theatre which is as long as I remember. I’ve been walking down this boardwalk even before that. What’s really changed since that first walk? A better music taste, a better fashion taste, higher expectations that still cannot be met.  

My family cheers for me as I walk by, just to embarrass the easily embarrassed me. My family is as much as a mess as always. We have to divide up who gets who a present into names in hats because if everyone got everyone a present… well, it just wouldn’t be possible. There’s so many of us, so close--metaphorically and literally--so maybe it makes sense it’s always chaos. Maybe that’s why sometimes I feel stuck here, other than general teenager angst/ artist wanderlust reasons. My family is so loud--one of my brothers as confident and loved as a lost Kennedy, my mom an almost famous photographer, five cousins, and four siblings to worry about--sometimes I feel drowned out.  

A couple of days ago, my baby sister came home from her cousins with Christmas cookies.  My mom has holiday-itis. She doesn't like baking so there across town my sister went. Other than company and entertainment, that is one of the best things about having local aunts: holday-itis preventive treatment. However, that is almost countered by the fact that since we're going to Florida for Christmas and nobody wants the house to burn down, we don't have a tree this year at my cottage by the cliffs. 

Our house has a tin roof. When the rain drums against it, I feel most at home. At the beach right down the hill, I feel most at home. My favorite Christmas tradition is simple. My mom gets each of her kids--and any other kid she can find because she really loves to do it--an ornament each year for Christmas. It reflects personalities and interests at the time. I have ballerina shoes and paintbrushes and a Disco ball and a mermaid--maybe two. I’ve always been very interested in not being a human--and a New York City taxi and a cheesy Sena's First Christmas 2005 she would've never gotten now. I complained about how she kept getting me birds, I don't like birds, I have no special connection to birds, yes I understand they are pretty, no I do not like birds, so she has stopped, but I do have two or three years worth bird ornaments. Of course, I won’t see them this Christmas because of the lack of a tree, but never mind that. 

Right here and right now, December is like an eighties indie movie. It is taking its time, embracing the cold winter lights that are so thin on the walls mixed against the fairy Christmas lights shaped all around our town (maybe it’s all the light pollution that creates the lack of snow. Because that’s how science works.) This month follows no pattern and no time, reminding you of the upcoming year and all the years before