Hello. I am Dan Eastman

Notes of a Holiday Survivor

It’s hard to believe it’s been fifteen years already. Fifteen years since mom died. I was pretty young then but I can still remember saying goodbye before she left for that fateful trip to the store. Dad left when she was pregnant so she was just doing what she could do get by and support us. It was Christmas Eve of 1996 when she left for a last minute run to Wal-Mart to get me a Tickle Me Elmo doll. Those things were the hot item that year. And I was going to get one.

She never did make it home. No, there was an altercation at the store. Not to undersell it, my mother was caught in the middle of the riot known as Elmo-mania. It was this whole thing where people were going insane for Elmo dolls. My mother was shoved to the floor and trampled to death. One guy even got his pants crotch torn out. It’s kind of funny to me. I mean, even at two years old I probably would have killed for one of those things but come on. It’s a figure of speech, people.

I suppose I can’t be anything but thankful. After that incident I was orphaned and then adopted by a kind couple named Jim and Denise who’d been unable to conceive but were otherwise fairly well off. I was raised in a nice suburban home and sent to an upscale private school where now, at seventeen, I’ve graduated smarter than most adults. While I do miss my mother I am not sad she’s gone. If her life had not been taken that day I would probably have attended public school and wore clothes like Nautica purchased from second rate stores like T.J. Maxx.

I’m not saying I don’t miss my mother. I am not saying that. But I am not sad about what happened. Did she die an honorable death? No. She died at Wal-Mart. She was miserable. She worked three jobs to support us, two of them at factories and one at the Bon-Ton. She was gross and her name was Phyllis. But she was my mother and for that I love her. And she died trying to make me happy which I commend her for. Fortunately, I was born handsome and that’s why Jim and Denise chose me at the orphanage. Now I’m lucky enough to shop at Banana Republic while my peers have to work there part-time. Am I saying that God was watching my mother and struck her down in order to give me a better life? No. That would be ridiculous. But I do believe there was some sort of higher power at work in that Wal-Mart on Christmas Eve of 1996. The riot, for instance.

Jim and Denise wouldn’t be caught dead in a Wal-Mart.

It’s important to always remember where you came from. This rings true especially during the holidays when more time is spent among family. They come and go and you never can tell when they may be gone for good at the hands of an unruly mob for a children’s toy. Love them as much as you can while you can. Everything happens for a reason. Someday those good folks may suddenly be dead and by some stroke of luck you’ll end up filthy fucking rich. Appreciate them for what they can unwittingly give you. Never forget.

Happy holidays everyone!