A Very Merry Christmas!

Wednesday, November 13, 2024

Mom asked for Christmas gift ideas for me and Michael, so I emailed some ideas. A vinyl Tori Amos album. Gift cards. A nice pair of over-the-head headphones for Michael.

Then I got a little bit tacky, and a whole lot real.

I’m highly concerned that my job will be up for elimination soon, I said in the email. If any gifts are given, cash would be the most helpful to us at this point.

(It’s gauche, but it is an idea and she asked for ideas, so…)

I continued.

Michael and I need to immediately prepare for anticipated reductions in federal health and human services funding (which, I implied, would impact state health and human services funding, which, I implied, would impact the health and human services agency that I work for, which, I implied, would impact the funding for my position).

I shared that my agency has already asked employees for “ideas” on cutting costs, and that doesn’t bode well.

I’ve had a 20-year career in HR and training in the public sector. I had a 5-year glimpse of HR in the private sector before that. During that time, I worked for a company that went through two rounds of layoffs (never, ever believe a company will have just one round of layoffs - it’s never just one round of layoffs). Layoffs are ugly. They’re painful, they’re life-altering, and they usually come right after asking employees for ideas on cutting costs.

There’s some writing on the wall, and it sure ain’t calligraphy.

I have a very real fear about the stability of my job and potential lack of opportunity for me in the public sector moving forward. Training is usually one of the first functions to go when organizations make the inhumane decision to lay off employees. I see no reason to expect anything different from that should certain Federal funding sources be reduced or eliminated.

Welp. Dad replied to my email.

After a two pleasantries, he let me know he doesn’t believe Ohio will be impacted. Don’t worry, ignore the doom and gloom, and the economy will get better for everyone (in all caps).

Dad has always called me a “smart young man.” He also dismisses my thoughts, fears, and feelings, so I’ve never really believed him. Ever. And I still seek his approval despite my best efforts. But that’s a group therapy session for another day.

What I don’t think he believes about Ohio - and the ramifications of a Project 2025 presidency - is that when Social Security gets eliminated, it will impact our household income, which will impact me and Michael in Ohio.

When Obamacare is repealed and pre-existing conditions become barriers to being insured, that will impact people with HIV, diabetes, fatty liver disease, depression, anxiety, ADHD and other health issues (me) and people who are transplant recipients with rare genetic disorders (Michael), which will impact me and Michael in Ohio.

When Federal health and human services funding gets eliminated, it will impact state health and human services funding, which will impact whether or not my job is funded, which will impact me and Michael in Ohio.

When the right for gay people to get married gets reversed, it will impact me and Michael in Ohio.

When Federal LGBT+ protections are eliminated or reduced, it will impact me and Michael in Ohio.

When practicing Christianity becomes a prerequisite for certain government services or benefits, it will impact non-Christians, which will impact me and Michael in Ohio.

When public institutions like libraries are defunded at the Federal level, which will cause them to be defunded at the state level, which will cause them to seek funding at the local level, which voters will reject because they can’t afford the tax hike, it will impact me and Michael in Ohio.

When the Department of Education gets eliminated (and, likely along with it, the Public Service Loan Forgiveness program), it will impact me and Michael in Ohio.

When tariffs are implemented and consumers bear the brunt, it will impact me and Michael in Ohio.

So I guess I’m not quite clear on how Ohio gets a pass on all this because it’s already “pretty lean” (according to my father).

Dad says everything will be OK.

I say we’re doomed as fuck.

But then again, a vinyl album and a pair of headphones would be swell presents.*

I shouldn’t worry so much.

It’s going to be a very merry Christmas.

– *My parents have been very generous at the holidays over the years. Really, for all of my life.

There were always presents under the tree when I was a kid, sometimes so many it would take what felt like hours to get through them all. They always spoiled me at Christmas. It was always magical to see the cookies half eaten and the milk glass emptied. It was always magical to go downtown to drop off my letter to Santa at the Santa’s Workshop department store display with animatronic elves everywhere, and to have steamy hot chocolate, and to get sticky hands from carrying around an oversized peppermint stick, and to marvel at the Christmas choo-choo train in the lobby of the bank, and to talk to the talking reindeer, and to ride on Dad’s shoulders when my legs got tired.

They drove two hours to see us at Christmas during the pandemic and stood outside on the cold front porch and watched through the window while we opened their gifts. I don’t know what says, “We love you” more than that. I don’t know what’s more generous than that.

There’s a good chance they will be very generous again this year, and that Dad’s “don’t worry so much” is letting me know they will be very generous again this year. I’m extremely fortunate to be the beneficiary of their continued generosity, and their love, and their support, and I’m sincerely grateful for it.

But I have such an impossible, painful, exhausting fucking time reconciling that generosity - that love - with how they vote. With how they treated me as a teenager. With the conditions they put in place for acceptance. With how they shamed me. With the trauma I didn’t know I was experiencing. With the fact that it wasn’t safe to be me when I was becoming me. With how Dad still calls it, “The Gay Thing.” With how Black Lives Matter is somehow “worse than January 6th.”

It hurts my brain and my heart.

It burdens me.

It confuses me.

It makes me angry.

It makes me cry.

It kills me.

Every holiday.

Every season.

Every conversation.

No matter what pills I take, or what breaths I take, or what steps I take, it hurts.

It hurts a lot.