The ghosts of xmas past

Ronnie's father was a television repairman when we were all kids back on Quinkert in the 50's and 60's.
There were no doctors, or lawyers, or captains of industry living in our neighborhood, so yeah, a television repairman was pretty hot stuff.
We all thought that Ronnie pretty much had it made.
Seriously, back then televisions weren't cheap and disposable like they are today and if something went wrong with your one and only tv set you naturally called in the repairman.
Yeah, Ronnie pretty much had it made, or so we thought.
Ronnie's father made a pretty good living.
Not only did he have his day job at a tv repair shop but he also had quite a little not reported for tax purposes, under the counter, moonlighting gig from fixing televisions around the neighborhood.
The trouble was that Ronnie's mother spent it faster than Ronnie's father made it.
I should probably say here that Ronnie was a real prick, he really was, and I think he probably got his prickiness genes from his mother.
On the other hand, Ronnie's father was a real nice guy.
He was a quiet and unassuming man who had been a Sgt in the Marines and had fought in the Pacific during World War Two. All our dads were World War Two vets, and they had all seen action, but Ronnie's dad was the only Sgt, and the only Marine, and the only one who had fought in the Pacific, and yeah, even our dads' thought that he was pretty impressive shit.
Anyway, what does this have to do with the ghosts of xmas past?
Like I said, Ronnie's mother spent it faster than Ronnie's dad could make it and I guess she really went all out at xmas time.
So every year, a few days after xmas Ronnie's dad would get good and drunk and pull Ronnie aside, and gave him the keys to the house, a couple hundred dollars in cash, and he'd tell Ronnie to take good care of his mother and his brother and sisters, because the stress had just gotten too much for Ronnie's father to handle and, Ronnie's father had decided that it would be best for everyone if he just left and went back to Tennessee, and he'd be sending money weekly once he got settled in, and he'd hop in his television repair van and take off.
By the time he'd gotten to Toledo he had either sobered up or come to his senses and he'd drive back home.
Ronnie told me this when we are about fourteen years old, and yeah, Ronnie grew to hate xmas, and really, could you blame him.
Ronnie was still a prick, but who wouldn't be.
How fucked up is that?