Mrs. Draper's Christmas Letter

"I may as well get it over with," she sighed. She was as devoid of inspiration though, as the frost-wrapped tree branches and the snow-covered landscape were of any sign of green life. She bit her lip and sat silently for a few moments, trying to harness her thoughts to the happiness that she used to associate with the holidays. The Draper Christmas letter, poem or whatever you wanted to call it had been a family tradition for close to twenty years now. Finally, with a grimace more suited to having to undertake a distasteful task such as cleaning a litter box rather than the spreading of holiday cheer, she began to write.

It's time for the Draper's Christmas letter.
We've done a lot this year, so I'd better
Get started on filling you in on our news
While Bill's on the couch, just taking a snooze.

Yeah, old macho-man had growled "don't bother me with any of that Christmas poem bullshit." I suppose it's beneath the dignity of his doctorate to smile and wish someone a Merry Christmas or to descend from Olympus to join us common folk in honoring the holiday rituals.

Bill's still at the college; I'm still at the bank,
For wealth and good health we've the Lord to thank.
And as for our youngsters, Janie and Mel,
They're both in high school and both doing well.

Yeah, reflected Mrs. Draper bitterly. I can just hear Bill reading this part with a trace of a sneer in his voice. I'm not supposed to be able to write worth a damn, but as usual, he can't be bothered to. He's the intellect of the family. I'm just the dutiful wife.

Janie's a writer, her efforts show it.
She's won an award; Bill got to bestow it.
Mel's given us all such gridiron thrills
And no heart can swell any prouder than Bill's.

Yeah, Bill and I sure have a lot to be proud of, she mused grimly. Our Mel is as self-centered, selfish and arrogant as his old man. I've never been so ashamed of two people as I was the night the Gardner girl and her parents came over. Mel had gotten the girl pregnant, and rather than face up to our boy's responsibility, my sensitive, supposedly caring professor of a husband demanded proof that Mel was the father. Then together, they bullied, intimidated and coerced the girl's family into talking her into having an abortion.

"What a setback a child would be at this point in Mel's career," Bill had told the frightened young girl. I'll never forget the hurt and betrayed look on her face when she turned to Mel for emotional support and he remained standing behind his old man.

Mels bound for college, then a legal career,
While Janie enters her last high school year.
The kids stayed home. We took a vacation.
We made New England our trip's destination.

It sounded like a wonderful trip when we planned it, but what a disaster! At Longfellow's home I listened to Bill flaunt his intellect by belittling the poet's work. Like Bill's ever written anything memorable. What an ass! He had the elderly volunteer guide flustered for a few moments, but she rebounded nicely and asked him sweetly, "If you don't like his work, then why did you stop to visit his shrine?" The rest of the tour laughed which only made him angry. Still seething, he left me to my own entertainment in Boston while he indulged himself in some late night pub-crawling.

We saw Longfellow's study and Walden Pond
And Lexington, where our Revolution dawned.
We climbed to the monument on Bunker Hill
Where lines of redcoats had been easy to kill.

Yeah, and then we settled into motel rooms that smelled of Lysol and luggage. The nights that Bill and I were together in those rooms were heartbreaking in their silence, as each of us realized that over the years we had retreated into ourselves. We had nothing left to share with each other.

From Harvard College to Cooperstown
We explored the country up and down.
Throughout our travels, up hill, through dell,
We got to know each other so well.

There were times during our vacation when the roads on the map would snarl into yarnlike strands of gibberish, and we'd end up lost. That's where my life seems to be at now. I'm somewhere else than where I'd imagined myself being at this point in my life.

We'd like to wish friends and family the best
And hope for you all the snuggest of nests.
And to all of you whom we can't be near...
May you find much joy this coming New Year.

Yeah. The old man will probably really be on my case. This stuff is pretty damn trite. But in my last stanza I'll set it all right. Christ, that rhymes too. I'm thinking in bad verse. Worse yet, it's banal, like most of the dialogues of marraige. I've emerged from the years of raising our children to discover that I'm alone. Yet, I'm honoring the tradition of our annual Christmas poem. The last one. I hope.

We wish you a Merry Christmas, but this is goodbye.
I suppose you're now sitting there, wondering "why?"
This is the last letter you'll get from the Drapers,
'Cause today I'm serving the Son-of-a-Bitch papers.