twenty somethings
one
one
The first time I entered the house which for the past twenty three years has remained my only permanent residence was the early afternoon of December 25, 1983. Every time this fact is mentioned my brother and sister-who were four and seven at the time-remind me that this delayed the opening of their Christmas gifts. My mom, in turn, will rebut this statement with the fact that December 25, 1983 was a Sunday, which meant that they wouldn’t have opened their presents until after church. I, however, remain the easier target for their bitterness. While this may be how my birth is most vividly remembered by my siblings, for the rest of the world the significant day was the Friday before.
My sophomore year of high school I took world history. Our teacher, Mr. Mondoux, was the type that made history interesting and fun. We began each new period of history by coloring a page from a coloring book depicting that era, which was graded based on use of realistic colors and staying inside the line. We also watched great movies such as Spartacus, Akira Kurosawa’s Ran, and Schindler’s List. When we were studying the ancient South American civilizations we learned about the Mayans, and more importantly their calendar, which was not only complex and accurate, but had an end date. It was December 23, 2012: my 29th birthday.
two
two
In the 1997 Seinfeld episode “The Strike” not only did we learn that Kramer had been on strike from H&H Bagels for the last 12 years, but that December 23 was the day on which Frank Costanza celebrated Festivus, a holiday for the rest of us. A holiday that not only combated the commercialism of Christmas, but the feel good atmosphere as well. Instead of a Christmas tree, he had chosen to have a Festivus pole-an undecorated aluminum pole. During the Festivus dinner was the “airing of grievances,” which was a time for people to tell everyone how they had disappointed them in the past year. The final part of the Festivus celebration was the “feats of strength,” which did not end until the head of household had been pinned in a wrestling match.
For four years I thought that I would die at the age of 29. My sophomore year of college I took a writing history class that focused on South American civilizations. Once again we covered Mayan culture and the Mayan calendar. When it came to the part about the thirteen cycles of the calendar that would end in 2012 I was prepared. The world was going to end on December 21, 2012. I was devastated, and promptly asked the professor about the December 23 date. It turns out that it had fallen out of favor with historians. Not only were there some small problems with the way they originally calculated it, but December 21 is the winter solstice, which in the language of ancient civilizations means it’s a lot more likely to be the end of the world. And it brought me three days closer to my death rather than the usual one.
three
three
At some point in my youth my family started to go to a movie of my choosing every year on my birthday as a way to further differentiate it from the holiday only two days later where everyone got presents. On my eleventh birthday I choose The Santa Clause. During the movie I began feeling sick. I walked out of the theater and started heading for the nearest bathroom. Before I could get there I threw up in the hallway. I looked around and it didn’t appear that anyone saw me. So I located an employee and told them that there was vomit on the carpet. Feeling much better, I went back into the theater to watch the rest of the movie.
How much difference would two more days make? Especially two days that I never really had in the first place? I won’t lie. In all likelihood they wouldn’t make any difference at all. I would just put off whatever it was I planned on doing before the end of the world another two days. And if you know when the world is going to end, does it really matter what you do anyway?