The Big Day

I have come to the conclusion that Christmas time used to be a lot of fun. I still enjoy Christmas, but now it is simply because I get a few days to sleep for 14-hour stretches and not feel guilty about it.

I have been running it over in my head and, every time I do, the historical steady decline in fun always comes out in phases.

I attach the following for your information and amusement.

1)What the Hell is going on?
Through the use of archive photographs and the recollections of relatives who used to be drunks but are now just mildly senile, I was able to construct what Christmas may have been like when I was 2- or 3 years old.

The Mall
Who is this fat SOB with the white beard? How dare you pick me up and jostle me around like I was a $2 whore. I have just peed on your leg, and I think I just soiled myself, to boot.

Christmas Morning
Dragged from the comfort and security of my bed and favourite blanket, at 5:30am, I am dragged downstairs by my brothers in what could only be described as a picture perfect Italian Army Retreat: Asses and Elbows.

To my amazement, someone has left boxes and pretty paper around a tree. I thoroughly enjoyed making a fort out of boxes and eating the colourful paper.

The remainder of the day is spent fighting over toys and, being poked and prodded by old people. and I still don’t know who the fat man in the red suit is.

2)I think the Fat Man is OK!
Between the ages of 4 and 6 years old, I remember Christmas. Not vividly, but enough to know that this Fat Man was is alright in my book. I was still a little leaery of him, as you one could tell if you they saw the picture of me and the Fat Man. The look of ‘I really like you, but keep your distance’ danced from my eyes, with tinges of fear and loathing jumbled in for effect.

This age seems to coincide with raised voices and getting into trouble for launching Nerf products at grandma while she worked on her 6th rum and coke of the morning. Back in the early Seventies, little was understood about the a correlation between sugar intake and hyper activity. We weren’t over stimulated, we were ‘acting crazy’ and the candy canes and chocolate and sweets were not the culprits.

3)What Do You Mean?
My bubble was burst when I was 6 years old. My older brothers knew, but tried to shield me from the truth. However there is always that one kid in the neighbourhood who has to share the pain with everybody once he discovers that the Jolly Old Saint Nick likely isn’t real.

Do you have any idea how hard it is to pretend that you believe in Santa Clause when you are 6 years old. You have been lied to by the very people who tell you not to lie, and the one guy, the most known person on the planet turns out to be a myth. The one thing we could all stand together to and believe in is taken away. That ‘kid’ I mentioned earlier almost always has red hair and bad teeth. This is the reason I dislike bad -toothed red -headed people to this day.

4)Thanks for the Socks!
Christmas turns into a day to receive socks you’ll never wear, books you won’t read, and visits to relatives you’ve never liked. All I ever wanted to do during Christmas during the time span of 12-19 years old was be with my friends.
Being with my friends was what made Christmas fun. Shooting out Christmas lights with a pellet gun was what Christmas meant to me. It was the time of the bastard!

5)First Girlfriend Gift
Around the that same time, most of us gave a really bad gift to the girl we were dating at the time. I don’t remember the piece of crap gift I gave, but at the time, it was the ‘most coolest’ gift ever. Mine was likely some perfume that could be used to anesthetise farm animals. For all I know it could have been hockey cards. To this day, I still give crappy gifts. I gave my wife a softball and kitchen tongs last years. Luckily, I had my shoes on at the time, and was able to make a hasty retreat. because I could hear her as I fled that I would need the tongs to remove the softball from a certain bodily orifice, and something about me being really stupid.

6)The Party Years
Nineteen years old, and up until marriage we had some damn good parties. Friends and a lot of booze were what Christmas meant to me. These were also the years that my parents would wake me up at 6am on Christmas morning -after letting me sleep for about half an hour - to revel in the Christmas spirit with family and friends. Even a hot shower and after -shave overdose couldn’t mask the odour of beer, rye and cigarettes oozing from every pore on my body. Good times.

7) Sharing Christmas
Once I got married, Christmas time changesd again. My wife’s family lives a good distance away so it is not reasonable for us to travel from my family to her family on Christmas day, so we have Christmas with my family one year and Christmas with her family on other years.

There is some culture shock going from your own style of family Christmas to another style or the traditions of another family’s Christmas.
The lights on the tree are different, the food is different, and the conversation is different.
One thing is consistent through most families I have spent time with at Christmas though – we all have one relative, be it a brother or sister, mother or father or so on that is absolutely insane and believes Christmas is ‘their’ day. They try to control the entire debacle of events that makes Christmas real, and manage to annoy almost everyone. Most families use alcohol to block this person out. I find earplugs work really well, too.

Oh, the sheer joy of driving nine hours through sleet and snow, deer and bears, and things I can only call ‘strange’ at this time.

Don’t get me wrong. Spending quality time with my wife and her family isn’t that painful, but sometimes I’ll catch myself daydreaming about the possibility getting lost on some Godforsaken road in the U.P. and being dragged from my truck by Sasquatch or a Yeti or possibly some hybrid of the two, and used for a Christmas Eve snack. Even if it is only to help the scientific community prove that Sasquatch exists when, the following spring when they find one of my unmistakeably tacky Acapulco shirts in an unidentifiable mound of what will later be called Sasquatch leavings (‘Yeti Poop’ to the lay person). This is the dream that keeps me going during this time of year.

We arrive at my wife’s parents’ house (or as I like to call them: my ‘anti-parents’),. where I am subjected to questions I can’t answer and conversations about people I don’t know. I never knew how much I enjoyed standing outside and smoking in the skin freezing cold until a few years ago. Quiet, oh blessed quiet, with the trees creaking and swaying under the extra weight of pure white snow. The light foot steps of deer close by and unknown growls coming from the darkened tree line about 150 feet from where I stand. When I return to the house, I attempt to sneak into the bedroom for what I consider the greatest gift ever: sleep. I am halted in my tracks by a four-year-old speaking a language that sounds like PortuSpanglish. He’s holding a plastic golf club and wearing some manner of space helmet. I still do not know to this day what ‘thwing ad dolf balfs’ means. Sweat runs from my forehead until I throw out use this old chestnut ‘ Hey Buddy, your mom just called you – go see what she wants.’ His plastic golf club turns into a jet pack as he zooms away to find his mom. I slowly make my way to the bedroom where I don’t bother to take my shoes off and just slide into bed. Oh blessed angels on high, I have found my Graceland. I get to nap for about eight minutes, until I am awoken by the door creaking open, giggles, and the sound of an goddam imaginary jet pack. I peel back the covers to see three runny noses, two toothy grins, and something that resembles gums with a can opener wedged inside of it. ‘Wwad due wue duing unca bwookth?’ Up and at ‘em.

A certain aspect of Christmas that always makes me smile is the look on kids’ faces when they open gifts on Christmas Day. This is quickly undone when the kids start to talk, whine or cry. Hiding in the basement with the dog generally remedies this.

Christmas morning comes, and we are shocked into consciousness by ear splitting shrieks of small children. By the time I have put pants on and walked out to the living room the shrieking has been replaced by crying. [Note to all adults: – Children to do not see ‘value’. Children see the number of presents they got and the number of presents their brother or sister got. It’s a numbers game to them, and if they don’t get at least the same number it becomes a pouting game. Have no fear – kids are dumb. To even up the numbers, give them cheap Chinese -made gifts that contain lead paint. IF you are one of those people who think lead paint is ‘bad’ because it could ‘kill’ your child, give them socks or goofy looking mittens. I like to give my nephews sweaters that will guarantee a playground ass whooping!]

Play by Play
The kids are out of the gate. Five-year-old Billy is down the stairs and tearing his stocking off the wall. It’s like the rug rat parade here in the living room as the kids have descended upon the tree like locusts – tearing and pushing and grabbing anything with wrapping paper. The boys have elected to try the ‘soft gifts get hidden behind/under or under the couch’ play, but Grandma is not having any of it. The fathers and uncles have begun drinking, and why not- it is 6:30 in the morning. Ooohhh a Transformer box to the head gets a flag on the play, while mom checks little Cindy for gaping head wounds. Cindy is ok and running toward her brother with her ‘My Little Pony’ carrying case … and he is down and crying. His ancestors felt that hit. Good news – Billy has lost his first tooth. It is stuck in the wood flooring. Fathers and brothers and Grampa are now rooting thru the medicine cabinet in a desperate attempt to find anything that will take the edge off. John opts for the Estrogen pills- his boobs will be sore in the morning because of that bonehead play. In a vicious display of Kiddy Christmas antics, all of the children have opened up the adults’ gifts – what a ballsey play by the children – we are awaiting a ruling from the judges- “Fair Play” and the kids go wild.
Then, just as quickly as it started, suddenly all the gifts are gone. The dust and wrapping paper slowly settle to the living room floor. We seem to be missing a one -year -old and the dog. Kick, trip, fall, swear, cry, and Grampa is down holding his hip. Little Addison has been found and we think that the dog has been eaten in what can only be described as a Christmas Version of 'Lord of the Flies'.

Keep yourself tuned to this channel in two years for ‘Kiddy Christmas Carnage.’

As chaotic as it sounds, and all things being equal – my wife’s family is only slightly more Christmas Psychotic than my own.

In Summary
I don’t know why Christmas is special, but it is, and I am glad for that. It’s a time to look back and realize all the things I should have done and all the things I shouldn’t have done and realize that next year, maybe, I could be less of a jackass. Maybe then, my family would let me sleep in.

Family Get Togethers

Family Get Togethers
I find the best way to enjoy a family get together is to not be there. Barring the ability to not be able show up, the next best solution is alcohol and plenty of it.
No-one enjoys spending time with their family. Anyone who says they do enjoy spending time with their family has obviously not spent enough money on therapy and is certainly in denial about how messed up their childhood really was.
Arriving
It is never good to be the first to show up. The position of favourite child was filled long ago and not by you! Just because mom didn’t sleep for 4 months because YOU were a colicky baby is a horrible excuse but, you are not the favourite and should reserve this special position for the sibling who had the ability to lie the best to your mother as a child. Your father will not get involved in this ‘favourite child’ debate as his life was over the moment the first child was born and the fact that he would still rather drown you in a gunny sack than acknowledge you are alive tells us clearly that dear old dad’s only real friend is Jim Beam.
This being said, you should arrive late and block in the vehicle of the sibling who has parked in a manner that would allow him /or her to leave quickly and easily right after dessert. If blocking their car in won’t work, simply slash a tire or tear the starter out their car.
Hors d'oeuvres
This is a fiendish test by your mother to find out who is kissing backside to get elevated in the will. There are several ways to respond to this test.
If you are the favourite son or daughter it is of the utmost importance to pretend as though the hors d'oeuvres being served are the culmination of the world’s greatest chefs finest attempt at placing heaven on your taste buds. This is a bold faced lie – and your mother knows it – but she will not call you on it as she does not want to reveal the effort she put into this trap. And since her favourite has brown nosed their way thru her first obstacle course- she will be content in knowing that the old age home she is put in will not likely have leather restraints and huggy jackets in it.
If you are the odd person out in your family – the one mom would throw out of the nest- the black sheep – it is up to you to maintain some sense of dissension in the family. Gagging and pretending to almost vomit will do quite well. Comments such as, ‘ it’s supposed to be goose liver, not goose shit pate!’ or ‘I would rather eat skunk butt than take another bite of this!’ Not only will this confuse people but it will also show that you are honest. You may be able to leave before dinner also –which can be seen as a bonus for your honesty.


Idle Chit Chat
Sitting around the living room with your family will allow you to discover what a bunch of liars you are related to.
Listening to your brother share his knowledge of the stock market and all of his windfalls from his shrewd business dealings will make you want to beat him with a tack hammer. The pure satisfaction of knowing you can go to his place of employment and kick the mop he uses out from under him should give you the mental satisfaction you crave. Also hold dear the fact that he is 8 months behind in his child support and has told you he is worried about the rash that developed after he spent the night with Giselle, the Haitian ‘exotic dancer’.
We should all bear in mind that when our parents talk it is perfectly acceptable to fall back on the skills we learned in high school, such as sleeping with your eyes open. Parents want to share their wealth of worldly experiences and who doesn’t like being told that whatever they do is not nearly as difficult or rewarding as the time their parents did the same thing. It is useful to have your young niece or nephew around to sit near you or on you so they can block the view of your parents as you sleep while they reminisce about cow tipping and driving drunk.
The Meal
Gathering around the dining room table, at the spot marked with your name on the god awful looking glass swans your mother paid too much for is the perfect time to let everyone know what you think of the seating arrangements. Rearrange the name tags in random order- this should elicit the desired effect of finding out who really cannot tolerate certain people and sometimes why. It is best to place your sister in law or wife adjacent to the loudest or stinkiest member of your family. If you enjoy your sex life at home I suggest you prey upon the sister in law. Once everyone is seated it will fall upon the grandchildren to say grace in some god awful language that takes ten minutes and ends with them thanking God for unicorns and puppy dogs. After you wake up from your ‘grace’ induced coma, feel free to criticize your father on his carving techniques. It is generally better to sit at the far end of the table if you are inclined to do this as the old boy may still have one mad dash left in him. Temper this situation knowing that you will be sitting closer to your mother which never bodes well for you since you married a brown eyed European Catholic girl.
Peace can be found during dinner as your family stuffs their faces and ignores the rest of the family-the way things should be. The meal will be really good since mom does not want you tell anyone that she is not a good cook. This should make up for the poison hors d’ oeuvres if you have any functioning taste buds left.
When the meal is finished feel free to suggest that your sister in laws should be obligated to clear the table. They will thank you for allowing them a five minute reprieve from your lunatic family and they will also enjoy the opportunity to chip or break your mother’s fine China. You will be thanked for your kindness by having hot coffee and some manner of blueberry torte spilled on your lap. You are welcome to remove your pants and lick the delicious dessert off your chinos. Your family will expect this behaviour from you so feel free to wear an interesting pair of underwear or show your bohemian side by not wearing any underwear at all. The look of disappointment from your father will help him reinforce his regret of ever having children.

The Escape
Promptly after the last gulp of coffee has been downed your brother will kick his youngest child in the shin under cover of the tablecloth causing the lawn ape to sob uncontrollably. This is his cue to get up and leave. Luckily you have blocked his car in the driveway – so, begrudgingly you must leave also. Act disappointed that you have to leave. A well placed motor vehicle can save you from a slide show or vacation videos of your mother and fathers trip to a Des Moines knitting supply store.
Almost There
While you, your wife, your brothers and sisters, there spouses and their children fight each other to put their shoes and coats on in a wild melee of flailing arms and knees to the groin, your mother will suggest that you all take some leftovers home with you. This is the last of the evenings trickery from your mother. If you hurriedly accept the offer you infer that your spouse is a horrible cook (which they probably are), if you don’t accept you may break your mother’s cold jaded heart (and therefore definitely be out of the will). Patience is the key here. Look up slowly, rotate your face towards your spouse. The puzzled and bewildered look in your eyes will let them know that you care about their feelings. If, upon gazing at your spouse you do not turn to stone, burst into flames or know and accept that you will hitching a ride to the basement couch hotel, you may at this point slowly turn to your mother and say, ‘I guess I could take a little bit of leftovers.’ Your father’s gaze will let you know what is acceptable for taking and what is to be left for him. He may reinforce his position by waving around his will and the pencil he has used to temporarily place you back in his will.
Chaos in the Driveway
Seeing as this family dinner has vacuumed away ten years of your life you should feel no regret in pushing, screaming and trampling all who get in your way as you run to the sanctity of your car. Your wife may be a little upset that you threw her down in an attempt to slow down the stampeding mass of siblings but she will understand your plan when her car door is open and you are already travelling at 25 mph in reverse trying to get out of the driveway. With any luck the velocity of the car and the open door should knock your wife into the car. If this doesn’t work you will have to slam on the brakes so the open door will help them slow down enough to be ricochet inside of the car. Leave no bush or tree unscathed in your escape. Mowing down flora and fauna will give your father an excuse to not be in the house with your mother. You may feel bad for trampling your 6 year old niece or nephew but you have done them a favour by teaching them that life is cruel.


Slow Your Heart Rate Down
Once at home, copious amounts of alcohol may be required to slow your heart down. Indulge yourself. Your next family meal is 2 months away. Training won’t begin for three weeks.