Following
my divorce, and with the missus out of the picture, (so far out she refused to
tell anyone where she lived for the first few years) me, my daughters and the
other family members had to make adjustments for the holidays. My family, as
well as my brother’s and sister’s usually went to our mothers for dinner on Christmas
Day, but that came to an end when my mother turned 80 and although she claimed
she loved having the family over, it was clearly time for a changing of the
guard.
When
I was young everyone in my family lived within an hour’s ride of each other and
we’d all usually meet at my grandparent’s place. Then as they grew older, it
switched to my mother’s. It was pretty much expected to switch to mine once my
mother threw in the towel.
But
the world had changed.
For
one thing nobody lived within an hour’s ride anymore. Some of us had to work at
least part of Thanksgiving or Christmas. And there had been divorces which
complicated things with the kids having to spend the holidays with the parent
they weren’t living with.
If
progress had made things so much easier, why was there so much more stress?
One
issue was with my oldest daughter, who at the time was in her final year of
college, was flying all over the country to meet with potential employers, plus
she was holding down a job.
We
ran into each other in a video store shortly before Christmas and were
desperately trying to work out a schedule so we could all be together Christmas
Day. I won’t bore you with the details but a lot of things had to be moved
around.
We
were at the counter ready to pay for our movies and had just about finalized
the rescheduling when the counterman asked: “And would you like to contribute
one dollar to benefit the helpless, starving,
babies of Elbownia?” ( Or some
charity, I don’t remember which.)
Just
as I thought my daughter and I had worked everything out, I remembered
something else that would cause more juggling. Now even more frustrated and not
paying attention to the counterman, I only caught part of what he said, so I spun
my head to him and in a clearly irritated voice said, “What!?”
At
that point my daughter had come up with a way around my problem and as she
explained, the counterman again asked if I would like… contribute… to help…
blah, blah, blah, Elbownia…”
I quickly spun back to him and said, “F*#k ‘em.”
Apparently
not expecting that answer, he pulled back and said, “F*#k the helpless,
starving babies of Elbownia?”
That
comment caught my attention and I again spun and said, “What the hell are you
talking about?” And as the words flew from my mouth I saw the big orange button
on his vest featuring some hungry waif with hands extended in that Oliver
Twist, “Please, sir. May I have some more?’ expression.
At
this point my daughter is howling with laughter as is the counterman. Furious
with myself and everything else, I contributed whatever singles I had and left
with my daughter. As we walked to our respective cars I apologized for my
behavior.
She
, of course, said she understood. “It’s Christmas season, everyone goes a
little crazy this time of year. I’m only halfway done with my Christmas
shopping and there’s only a few days left. It’s hectic, what can you do?”
“This
isn’t what Christmas is supposed to be about,” I said, really meaning it.
So
when we all gathered on Christmas day, I said that since none of us had any
young children, I suggested we stop giving each other presents at Christmas and
instead have a catered dinner at my house for the entire family.
That
suggestion received overwhelming support, and a considerable number of sighs of
relief.
So
that’s what we’ve been doing the last 8 years. And so tomorrow I’ll be dining
with my mother, sister, brother, daughters and their boyfriends along with
Bella the bull dog and Stewie the Italian greyhound.
Plus
they’ll be one new addition.
My
daughters asked if my ex (their mother) could come as well.
Hmmmmmm.
Ah,
what the hell, it’s Christmas, right?
So
from me and mine, to you and yours, have a wonderful Christmas and may your
days be merry and bright.
