I imagine most bloggers are aiming for some sort of warm and fuzzy blog today, since it’s Christmas Eve. Not me. I want to say here, out loud and proud, Christmas at my house is often NOT like a Hallmark commercial.
Some years are better than others, but it’s NEVER a Hallmark Christmas. Who the hell ever has those, anyway?! Something always goes kaflooey. [I was reminded of that yesterday because we waited all day for my brother to arrive, and then finally at 6 p.m. he called and said he had been waiting for a package and wouldn’t make it over here until this morning.]
We don’t have a ton of relatives to the house at Christmas. We’re lucky to scare up a distant cousin. My paternal grandparents died before I was born. I have 2 paternal uncles and 2 maternal uncles. They always spend Christmas with their wives’ families. Since I have no aunts, no extended family gatherings happen, although sometimes we used to get together with mom’s brothers at Thanksgiving.
My mother’s parents used to come over around Christmas when I was a kid, but they always left Christmas day, to spend the rest of the holiday with Mamaw’s brother Ralph, and her various other siblings. She had 12 siblings.
Sometime when I was a kid, I remember visiting Ralph’s house. Ralph was a tall man and he disliked kids. He certainly made it clear I was of no more consequence to him than a pesky fly. Mamaw’s sisters Hazel, Marcel, and Miriam were sweet to me.
Mamaw’s sister Dot was – how can I say this diplomatically?!- she was pure EVIL. She told me I couldn’t decorate Ralph’s tree and took the ornament out of my hand. Picture Cruella DaVille, as an old lady. That was Dot.
Anyway, Mamaw’s relatives were a mixed bag of good and evil. I didn’t find out until long after Papaw was dead and I was grown that he had actually had siblings, too – 7 of them. Mamaw didn’t care much for his siblings so we never saw them. Ironically, the table I now use in my kitchen, which is over 100 years old, was made by Papaw’s father more than 100 years ago, and given to Papaw by his sister – either Daisy or Georgia, not sure which. My parents had just gotten married and had no furniture. I didn’t know the other Hastys, except Frank, who is a Hasty cousin but more like a sibling to Mom.
Papaw had to come over when I was a kid, because Dad couldn’t manage Christmas presents on his own – the ones that said “Assembly required.” We have an old black and white photo somewhere of Daddy and Papaw in the kitchen. Dad was drinking a cocktail and Papaw was probably drinking coffee, because he had to put together all the toys and bicycles. Dad couldn’t put together anything but a financial portfolio. Mechanical things were beyond him. Thank God my grandfather was handy with tools.
Anyway, as I said, big family gatherings at Christmas didn’t happen for us. That wasn’t the only odd thing, though.
My brother told me when I was about 8 and he was 11 that there was no Santa, and showed me my presents, in my parents’ closet. Every year after that, he checked out the presents way ahead of time, so Christmas morning was not interesting to him, and he could hardly be roused from the bed. I would be losing my mind with excitement. We had to go see everything together, as a rule. One year he wrapped himself in the bedcovers like a mummy and Dad had to go in his room and scream for 5 minutes before Bruce would agree to get up. I think he was a teenager.
Brother still moves slow on Christmas morning but I try to make coffee available, so the torture is short-lived.
I love this photo of Bruce with Santa, because he looks so skeptical...
One year, before the big Santa letdown, we got Mom and Dad up before dawn, opened presents, and ate breakfast, all before 7 a.m. Mom and Dad were zombies that day.
When I was 5 or 6, I demanded a babydoll that spun around like a ballerina. She was heavily advertised on TV and I was a TV-aholic kid. I begged and cried, and finally Mother gave in and got me the doll. I played with her 5 minutes, got bored, and went off to make mudpies or something. Mother still tells that story to this day, about the waste of money for that doll.
That might have been the same year Dad took me shopping for the first time and I bought pajamas for Mother that were about 3 sizes too small. I insisted she put them on, and cried and carried on. She couldn’t get them on. Dad explained he wasn’t good with sizes but I cried and wouldn’t be appeased.
The year I was 7, my brother got the coolest toys, and I didn’t. I stole all his toys and played with them, and screamed and cried, and had a hissy fit. I still remember the top, the football jersey, the puzzle. All things I wanted. I was so jealous of my cousin Terri who, although a girl, was allowed her very own Hot Wheels and a track! It was horribly unfair.
One year when I was about 10, Mother was very sick with the flu. Dad cooked hamburgers on the grill for Christmas dinner. He used to make terrible hamburgers – raw inside, stinking of gas. It’s amazing we could eat them. [I could do a whole blog on my father’s limited cooking skills.]
One year when I was in high school, some friends of ours, the Wheelers, decided to hide their boys presents in our house, and I guess my parents hid our presents in their house. I went in the guest room and looked at all of Jeff's presents every day and was extremely jealous because he got so many cool albums. To this day, I think of Jeff Wheeler when I hear any song by Lynrd Skynrd.
Some years, my dad insisted on having Christmas parties for his department. I remember one party where he got looped and came out and streaked around the living room, butt-nekkid except for possibly a hat. I was in middle school. I remember wishing he would run faster.
The first year after my brother was in the army, he couldn’t come home for Christmas. Dad sat around and cried all day. Every year after that if Bro couldn’t make it home, we would open presents with little enthusiasm, and mostly just sat around all day looking at the walls, either bored [me] or crying [Mom and Dad].
It is for that reason that I have never once, in all my 47 years, not spent Christmas with my parents. I’ve only missed Thanksgiving once, and that was when I was in Russia finishing up adopting Alesia.
One year in Knoxville, I was making so little money as a paralegal I couldn’t pay my bills. I got a part-time job working at a book store, so I could make some extra money. I was working 40 hours a week at a firm, then 15-25 hours at night and on weekends. I was a wreck after a week of that. By the time Christmas Day came around, I was a total zombie. I was seriously sleep deprived. I had been having nightmares about customers giving me long lists of books to find and only 5 minutes to find them in that huge store. Not only that, what little money I had made had been spent on books – turning me loose with an employee discount in a book store was a huge mistake - I was like a junkie and books were my drug of choice. Plus they sold music and other little gift items. I think I actually ended up owing the store money by the time I was laid off in January.
One year when I was in my 20’s, Mother was sick and I made Christmas dinner. It wasn’t cold hamburgers, but the whole dinner was exhausting, even just for the 5 of us [Bruce was married]. The words "cook the turkey" haunt me to this day.
Christmases with my kids have been largely happy, except for last year. Bruce was in Iraq and my aunt and uncle both died 2 days before Christmas. So last year was not stellar. However, Michael developed a love of Christmas which was been so cute. This year he has been very enthusiastic about decorating, baking, and riding around at night to look at lights.
I figure, if you get one great Christmas out of 10, you're doing well. Of course, my idea of "great" has nothing to do with Christmas gifts. My best Christmas ever was 2004, the year I became a mom.
Merry Christmas!!
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