Ghosts from the Far Side

by Jer

"If he calls me passive-aggressive one more time, I'll get back at him in ways so subtle that he won't have any idea why." - Matt Groening

I reached across my desk to peel back January 3, only to reveal – predictably – January 4.

I’m describing, of course, a daily calendar. You know the kind. We tend to give them as Christmas gifts in anticipation of the New Year. 365 new words, useless facts or quirky anecdotes. At least 365 for the disciplined mind. In my case, it’s good for the first 20 days or so and then it collects dust for six months before I finally give-up on it and throw it away.

But this time might be different. This time I was given a Far Side daily calendar. The single-pane wit and wisdom of Gary Larson should last me – at least – until Groundhog Day.

But as I said, January 4, 2007, was sitting there, looking back at me.

Why does January 4 ring a bell? What’s significant about that date?

And as the nostalgia started to fade into focus, it hit me: Karen’s birthday.

Karen was my step-sister of nine years. On July 26, 1980, my mother remarried and our family doubled in size. There we were at the front of the chapel, from left to right, Karen, my mother, my step-father and me.

In the beginning, underneath it all, I desperately wanted to be close to them both, Karen in particular. For an only child, the idea of having a sibling was more than appealing; it was downright enthralling. Later that fall, I was going into the fourth grade and she was starting her freshman year of college. Ironically, my classroom faced her dormitory. Everyday I would look out the window in the hopes of seeing her walk to class. Everyday my teacher would tell me to stop daydreaming.

But we never were close. I saw her at family gatherings, over the holidays and occasionally when she would bring home some laundry to wash. I played the role of the pesky little brother perfectly; probably because I didn’t have the wherewithal to engage her on any other level. Eventually she graduated from college and moved out to Boston for graduate school, effectively nixing any chance at a relationship with her.

A few years later, as the marriage unraveled and I disclosed some less than flattering things about her father, the relationship – if you can call it that – ended without a word. In fact, I can’t even remember the last time I saw Karen. I just know I moved out of the house when neither she nor my step-father was around and moved on with my life.

That was the summer of 1989.

Years later I took the opportunity to bring some closure to my relationship with my step-father. I showed-up on his doorstep and he invited me in. The visit, which lasted no more than 20 minutes, involved me doing most of the talking. There was very little ownership on his part to the deep-seeded ways he hurt me. I did not expect there to be. I came to say what I had to say and took my leave.

Since that time it's been my journey to forgive him; to bring me to the point where I can genuinely wish him well.

However, with Karen, there never was any closure. I made a feeble attempt to connect with her about 8 years back that involved a note on a windshield. Nothing ever came of it. Perhaps just as well.

Yet, here I sit on her birthday, part of me wanting to track-down her contact information and give her the warmest birthday wishes. But I won't. Because what motivates me now isn't how Karen feels, but rather how I feel. You see, I would be selfishly using her special day as an excuse to get something I want. A honest conversation. A goodbye. Closure.

That wouldn't be fair to her.

So I'll resist this queer, internet stalker impulse, read my calendar and let Gary Larson's humor give me a reason to chuckle.