Through a postal service, darkly.

I received a Christmas card from my paternal grandparents today. As I tromped up the stairs I reflected that at some point, I'd have to just vanish off my relatives' radar if I wanted to lead an uninterrupted life. Following a fiasco at Thanksgiving, I can't say I'm altogether inclined to deal with any blood relation on anything more than a one-on-one basis from a distance of at least ten feet for the rest of my natural life, so there ought to come a point over the next few residences I move into that I just don't tell people where I'm living.

In the case of extended family, it isn't aversion so much as guilt, especially in cases like these. I'm very bad about thank-you cards, notes, letters, virtually anything. It isn't that I'm ungrateful, just that I suck at expressing gratitude for those with whom I have a familial acquaintance but don't actually know.

But the worst part was inside the card. Even as I was opening it, I cringed, hoping no familiar check would fall out-- but no such luck. More miserably still, the check was for a monetary amount I'm seriously, seriously embarrassed by. Did my mom tell them that I'd been out of work since November? Did they think I'd spend some of this toward their son, knowing I hadn't spoken to my father in almost three years, and deep down they suspected I was just a Good Catholic Girl who got sentimental at Christmas?

I'm trying my best not to be cynical. I don't mean to be ungrateful-- as before, as always, I just don't really have the words.

You want the truth, Grandma and Grandpa? Your son never taught his children charity. All four of them have grown up slightly uncomprehending of true generosity, constantly suspicious of a hidden catch, sensing a burdensome obligation. It's the same reason our holidays are so terrible now I can't even bring it upon myself to go home. Too much expectation, too much deep-seated and directionless resentment, too high stakes for too little pay-off, because we don't really understand each other and we never will.

Maybe you do know that, and that's why you sent this. It's more than enough to mail-order presents, to go through the designated motions without having to tear my psyche down in the process. It lets me love without the reminder of what that sentiment is up against. It lets me feel without my convictions getting torn apart.

I am a product of the internet generation. I am comfortable with disconnect.

But whatever your intention, I'll try to put your generosity to the best possible use, okay?