My daughters were very happy this morning.  I watched them, trying to understand what they were happiest about and trying to share that happiness.  Oh, you like blind bags and Barbie dolls?  Let me help you with those.  Oh, what is that?  Cool!  I try to be there for others and I feel guilty when I think selfishly, saying “What about me?” in my head.  I’ve done less and less of that and now in the second year of COVID I wonder what else I will yield to another.  More time, more energy, more money.  Here ya go!  Take a pound of flesh from over here.  No, it’s not a passive-aggressive thing.  If you need it, please take it.  Just think of me as one of the good guys if you think of me at all.

            If that sounds like I’m being a martyr then so be it.

*

            I watched It’s A Wonderful Life today.  Hadn’t seen it in over 20 years.  I recall seeing the flick when I was too young to appreciate adulthood; thus, the notion that he would sacrifice his dreams for the good of the town did nothing to me emotionally.  My hot take as a young man was:  if he really wanted it, he would have taken his shot.  He didn’t, so he got what he got.

            But not now.  Nothing, save maybe this movie, is so black and white.  At the time I made that judgment I was having dreams myself.  Where did they go?  I feel the sting of them now because I realize the time to reach those dreams has passed. 

            I have thought about going out to that bridge, too.  By some miracle, I have an ingrained notion of the sanctity of life that precludes me from considering suicide.  But the loneliness I feel is crushing.  Outside of my immediate family I feel as though I’ve lost the language to communicate anything beyond small talk.  And small talk is just too damned small. 

            Don’t worry about me, though.  I will trudge on at half speed.

            I could write a book about It’s A Wonderful Life, maybe filed under ‘Philosophy’ or ‘Spirituality.’  Unlike my previous viewing, the film gave me surprising feelings.  The scene where George is yelling at his kids – I’ve ranted at my kids in the same way and have had to apologize immediately afterwards.  Calling my house a shithole and asking my wife why we ever had children – I’ve done that as my wife looked on as concerned as Donna Reed.  Did I talk a big game about how I’d travel the world, make people around me feel lesser, only to eat so much crow you would’ve thought I liked the taste?  Sure did.

*

            One thing really got to me.  Do you remember the scene where the market crashes while George and Mary are about to escape the town for a nice honeymoon?  George goes back to the savings and loan office and convinces every one of the investors, who were just regular townspeople, to keep their money in the bank.  Mary offers up their wedding cash to tide people over, which George gladly doles out one by one.

            In that moment I wanted more than anything for one of the townspeople to reach out a hand, place it on George’s shoulder and tell him that he was going far beyond what any man would do to keep everyone afloat during the crash and to thank him, not for the money, but for the sacrifice that it represents.  A simple “you’re alright, Mac” type of line that old movies like this always have.  But nobody says anything that meaningful.  The people are content because they are financially saved and that’s enough.

            What kind of person would reach out a hand and say, “You’re all right.  You’re one of the good ones?”

            My grandfather would have.  He would be the kind of person to not only say it to George’s face but also repeat it to anyone who wasn’t there.  Years later, even decades later, he would retell the story in such detail that you were sure you were standing in that line.

*

            This is the first Christmas since I was born without my grandfather, who we call Dziadziu.  Last Christmas when I saw him I felt so awful about it.  I knew it wasn’t going to be forever.  I feel more alone now.  Someone who protected me is now gone and I must fend for myself.  One of the good ones is gone.  A great one.  If you met him, you would know.

            When you’re talking to someone else it’s easy to tell when they are grieving.  Anger, resentment, frustration, exuberance, and tears are always coming to the forefront at unexpected times.  It’s difficult to see the grief in yourself.  My grandfather died this summer at 97 and I haven’t dealt with it.  It would be foolish to think I can process this all at once, and certainly not on Christmas.  I never expected this old movie to bring out these feelings.

            I’d like to say more about him, to explain who he was and why I think he touched so many lives.  I can’t do it yet.  But I can be honest.  When people expressed condolences to me they mentioned their interactions with Dziadziu.  In response, I always said, “I’m glad you got to meet him.”  I truly believe people were better off once they did.  I know I was.

            I’m losing the thread of whatever this piece was supposed to be.  I don’t think you can explain the greatness of a person or a thing that you love.  You can just show it and hope it translates.

*

            Look: you’ve given me your attention and I’m appreciative.  I’m reaching across the counter now, from debtor to banker, shaking your hand for your kind mercy.  But now I’m going to pull you by the hand towards me, and in confidence tell you that I think you must pursue whomever or whatever you love in this word because I promise it is running away from you at top speed.  So get your running shoes.  When you catch up, suck the love out of it until you think you can’t stand it.  Then go back for more.  You have to get goddamned gluttonous for that feeling.  Don’t let other people’s opinions weigh you down.  As long as no one is hurt, what you love is right and all else is wrong.