Warrior: Holiday Buzzkill

[Kurt Noble]

Holiday Buzzkill
TNISSE Role-Play
12-27-10

Christmas. Hanukkah. The New Year. What a waste.

I find holidays to be a considerable waste of time myself. Days consisting of over-eating, narcissistic gorging, and the worst of all, disappointment. In the school yard, I find myself surrounded by "friends" that speak gleefully about the new Hannah Montana CD, or Justin "Beaver," if that's actually his name. Only days later, the expected becomes the envisioned: Disappointment. Crying, moaning, complaining about how they didn't get what they wanted, and what they actually did get, they didn't care for. I cannot help but smirk to myself, inviting their malicious glares, and eliciting their merciless gossip. But I don't care for such things. For I know what I want, something that will cease the looming disappointment the holidays provide: For Daddy to win.

Daddy was never was very big on gifts. While he prefers not to discuss finances with his own daughter, I know money has always been hard. When life moves faster than those dreaded Oompa Loompas in Charlie And The Chocolate Factory (they do indeed haunt my dreams), gifts sometime take a backseat in a slowly moving Volkswagen. The metaphor stands in itself. I do remember many Christmas Eve nights, buying drug store candies and miscellaneous gifts that would never bare a second look from relatives that I'm not even sure I'm related to. Their faces spell it all. Disappointment. But not for me. Not this year.

The date was December 24th, 2010. I remember it so clearly (aside from the recency state of fact) because that bothersome Charlie Brown Christmas special was on. In the truest definition of Einstein's insanity definition, that Charlie Brown continues to try and kick the football from the hands of that rather amused female. Why she even bothers with him is a mystery. Perhaps I envy her, but...where was I? Ah yes, Christmas Eve. I remember the door swinging open, the bitter cold embracing the room. I turned, my eyes gleaming over Daddy as he came inside, hauling his usual assortment of last minute gifts. I knew what this meant: Wrapping. Joy.

"Sweetheart, I need some help. Mind helping me wrap," he briskly asks. I mouth the words as he says them. While I love Daddy with all my heart, his simplicity amuses me.

"Of course Daddy," I mutter breathlessly. I gladly switch the power off my television, and join my ever-moving Daddy as he tosses the sacks aside. While this time of year usually weighs heavily on Daddy's mind, something else is consuming his thoughts. It takes a strong thought to accumulate sweat while the wind is bone-chilling. I gaze at Daddy as he brings out an assortment of wrapping paper. The red star paper (which is dazzling, I might add), reflects the flushed color of Daddy's face. He sits down, and mutters to himself, before speaking to me.

"Start with your aunt's gift in the small bag. Use the green paper. It upsets her stomach less, or something like-"

"Daddy, is something wrong?" To be honest, I wasn't interested in my aunt's intestinal problems, as interesting as they may be. He smiled, shaking his head, an obvious attempt to thrust off the question. He will not escape my question, however invasive it may be.

"Nothing's wrong Angel. It's just a stressful time of year is all. Grab some tape, will you?"

I sigh, realizing stubborn Daddy has come to play. No matter. As I cover a rather grotesque looking bottle of whiskey, I anticipate that the heavy guns must be played. Time to be Daddy's Little Girl...

"Daddy, I know you're stressed. I'm just worried about you is all. I don't think I'll be able to sleep for Santa knowing you're worried about something, and you know what they say: 'He sees you when you're sleeping, he knows when you're awake....' I mutter the rest of the mindless dribble, as the steel defenses Daddy has put up melt faster than the candy bars he no doubt got for some half-retarded cousin of mine. Oh, and for clarification, the concept of a fat man sliding down the chimney, breaking into my home, and leaving mind-numbing devices while stealing our precious food dumbfounded me...although it amuses Daddy to no end, so I let it slide. Perhaps the day will come when he'll stop lying to his "Sweetheart."

"Well Sweetheart, I was just hoping to get the holidays off after all the chaos we've had this year. I mean, the general manager changes, thinking about that bas-...bad man Diabolik, and just everything in general. Doesn't help that it's against Tom Roberts."

Oh yes...Tom. I can't say the name doesn't ring a sour bell for me. Despite what the scientists would say about my generation, my memory had not faded. Just three short years ago, Tom had defeated Daddy, ending his three month long title reign. He's crushed the best thing that had ever happened to Daddy, and as he clumsily wrapped a Goodwill-abused toy solider for some no-name nephew of mine, I could see it was weighing heavily on his mind. However, I could tell Daddy's selective memory was kicking in again. Being senile was not one of Daddy's more charming traits.

"I don't see what the fuss is Daddy," I chime as I finish wrapping that God-awful smelling alcoholic laxative, and move onto a perfume bottle that wreaked of dead animals. "Tom's not a new opponent or anything. I know you faced him before, and he beat you fore the EUW title, but those were years ago. That was the old Warrior, not the modern Warrior. Besides, if I remember, you beat him back for the title just a month later, beating Trent Sickness and Meltdown, among others. I'm not worried. What I would worry about is how you plan to wrap that toy without putting it in a box..."

Daddy grins to himself, and stands up, before moving to the back room, and ruffling through our assorted rummage that I like to refer to as Narnia. He speaks to me, although I can tell he wants to avoid such a discussion.

"I know Sweetheart, I know...I just don't want to disappoint is all. A new year starts soon, and ending on a high note would be a great way to end this year. I just don't want it to be a buzzkill on the holiday's. Tom's tough...a bit out there, but tough. As good as I've gotten, I don't doubt he's gotten just as good. What do you think, will a bag do?"

"Yes, Daddy," I exclaim in rather falsified enthusiastic manner. Daddy comes out, a bather crumpled, hideous sack in his hands. He sits down, and continues to wrap, as I stare at him. I haven't been this unsatisfied since learning Mario Kart wasn't getting a sequel anytime soon. Even I fall victim to the dashing charm of the mushroom man.

"Daddy, I don't think you're really worried about this match-up, in a sense. Are you really alright?"

"Of course. What would make you think otherwise?" He asks as he tosses the bag aside, and sits back, before doing a few impromptu sit-ups. Obviously trying to take the stress away. A billboard on his forehead would have been less clear. Looks like a double dose of the charm was needed.

"Daddy, I know something is bothering you beside Tom, or maybe in addition to him. For...for my Christmas present, could you tell me?"

I had done it. The sit-ups had ceased, and Daddy sat up, staring deep into his daughter's eyes. Sometimes, providing the strength Daddy needed was hard, but someone had to do it.

"Sweetheart...I just don't want to disappoint you. I appreciate you getting so involved in my career. I just don't want you to take a possible loss so hard. I care about you, is all. I-"

I know the next words that are about to erupt from the saddening mess now labeled Daddy-mountain. Needing him to stay strong, I stop him.

"Daddy...I won't be disappointed. I know you're doing the best you can. Tom's tough, being a former EUW Champion, but you're tougher. You won't make me sad because you're the best. You're the best EUW has ever seen, and in 2011, you'll continue to be the best. Tom Roberts is a small zit on the back you needed to step on to reach success. You'll reach it...I know you will."

Daddy smiles, the fight genuine thing he's done since entering the room.

"Since when did you get so clever with the similes?"

"It's actually a metaphor Daddy, but you were close." I smile, killing the somber mood in the mood. Suddenly, Daddy leans forward, tossing his current failed attempt at wrapping aside, and does the unsuspecting: He kisses my forehead. I blush. I, Daddy's little girl, actually blush.

"I'm gonna win it for you, Sweetheart. I know times are hard, and your old Dad doesn't always come out on top, but I will do whatever it takes to win this one."

Daddy leans back, and goes back to his wrapping, as I stare mindlessly at him. For all his worrying, he was better than anything I could have ever asked the fat old jolly man for. He was the kind of man that cared about his family, something Tom could never understand. He didn't understand that my Daddy was fighting for. He didn't understand that my Daddy, Warrior the best EUW had ever seen wasn't. As I stared at the secondhand presents, the threadbare wrapping, and the lugubrious lighting in the room, I understood at that moment what my Daddy was:

Everything but a disappointment.