I sent the following letter not to Santa but to my best friend in Junior High School:
So for Xmas, I am integrating all my past identities instead of living in slivers and burning bridges behind me. While that may have kept my abusers and dangerous individuals in my family or crazy stalkers from chasing me from one incarnation to the other… it also makes it impossible for friends and old allies and childhood flirtations etc to follow even if they wanted to… they can only stand on the past side of the bridge and say “whatever happened to so-and-so”. So I gift myself with our reintroduction (much as I had when I invited you to Dathen’s christening/blessing omg almost 30 yrs ago.) and I look forward to remeeting the Todd you have become. This is btw Becky Averett aka Becky Moorman aka G.L. Morrison (G.L. being for Gypsy Lark but also in the poetic tradition of T.S. Eliot and e.e. cummings.)
Santa and childhood friends all live together in a magic land called FaceBook and this is an excellent place to send them wishes and letters etc. Some elf will read that mail. I sent similar “seasonal greetings” to my baby brothers, family members from whom I am estranged by my choice (altho admittedly the feeling is a little mutual in some cases… I’m too commie, pagan, political, pro-sex, profanity-loving, unapologetic fat dyke for them.) because of their lifestyle choices (narrow, gated-community, white-christian, white-bread, self-hating, drink the koolaid, diet-bragging consumers) and because of their allegiances to the truly psycho sociopaths in our gene pool.
(Insert wave! Hi, Dad! Yes, I remember how in 1989 you came to my wedding to the woman we now called evil crazy Alice and when the priestess approached you at the wedding rehearsal and jabbed you in the chest with her finger and said “I know all your secrets” and made it clear that if it had been her choice you wouldn’t have been invited and you pulled me into the kitchen and begged me to “Just respect me until I’m dead” which I took to mean don’t tell your crimes to anyone while you were still living and could be punished, embarrassed, reap the whirlwind, whatever. My response to you then was “Take a deep breath, Dad. It isn’t all about you.” and my response now is “DUDE, YOU PROMISED TO DIE SOON IN THE 80s. You clearly plan on living forever. I never promised to keep your secrets. I don’t make promises I can’t or won’t keep. And if I am tricking, coerced or foolish enough to do so… I rescind them. Forward out of the darkness of the past, forward out of not into the abyss. Forward to fight the good fight, to win the war and build a peace to live in among veterans of the war, survivors and heroes and the resistance while the collaborators and war criminals all go off to the Hague to stand trial. Just saying. Fuck off, Dad. Now and always.)