Christmas at my house has generally meant putting the “fun” in “dysfunctional”.
Yes, a bit cliche – but only if you’re being sarcastic. And a few holidays ago, I might have told you that’s exactly what I meant as well. But we’ve been doing pretty well the past couple of years. Oh, we’re still dysfunctional – but it really has been kinda fun – and with less yelling. I’m not sure what’s changed, but this year, it was just an overall good time. Even when mom bought dad some new Rockports that were admittedly more a gift for her so she wouldn’t have to see his ugly old loafers anymore, my sister and I wisely did our go to: hiding under a blanket. We knew they were about to spar with vitriol word swords. One epic moment was when we asked in in unplanned unison “Is it over?” This brief comic relief from reality helped break up the fight before it began.
We were off to a good start.
From there, my sister and I insisted my parents perform as models in a photo shoot for us. And while “shoot” is exactly what my mom would do to me if I posted the photograph on here, suffice it to say that it’s an amazing mix of her looking all Old School Hollywood, draped in an exotic scarf while draped on my dad, who’s dressed like a 90’s rapper in a beanie. Plus, the lighting was perfect. I’d say “you had to be there to appreciate it”, except – it’s like any photo shoot, really. The perfect end result after one million point one million snaps is a fabricated version of reality starring people experiencing an inverse relationship between how comfortable they are and how good the pic looks.
However (speaking of 90’s rappers), the best part of all was the impromptu dance party.
(How it looked in our minds):
(How it actually looked):
Somehow, when my sister and I initiated this spastic Kid ‘n Play display, we managed to encourage my mom and dad to get into it, too. And I think the latter of that pair recorded part of it (note to self: never piss of man who sired you and officially owns video blackmail of you dancing badly to everything from Sugarhill to Cypress Hill). It was fun – all this spontaneous excitement, madness, gift wrap throwing, and overall chaos. Even when someone’s makeup fell and broke, my mom was a good sport about it as we turned cleanup into musical about murder and stuff (the lyrics are irrelevant, right? It’s the spirit that counts? ‘n all that?) The whole spectacle was as nuts as it was fun and unplanned. For one day of the year, we managed to do what we’re meant to do – put aside our differences, commune, and celebrate what we share in common.
No funny zing to end on here.
But mayhaps you’ll enjoy this memorable retro yes-and moment that shows a “bigger picture” application via that idea – when a century ago, British and German soldiers made a Christmas truce. While soccer was indeed a uniting element, official stories say the motivating force was the sense of connection behind the holiday and the music (someone started singing carols) before the other side joined in. Just like in our house. As for the “truce” – it was brief, and inevitably someone started firing off rounds ending the whole affair. But – ya know- it was still nice to get a glimpse of what happens when peeps seek what they share in common and focus on that instead of finding reasons to fight. My “difference” (as I unforgivably try to weave this war metaphor for the purposes of describing family holidays) is that I don’t believe in the grandiose myth surrounding Christmas. But if it’s a tradition that means celebrating unity, I can put down my defensive guns too. Because why not?
Lucky for me, I remain armed with guilt free ninja smoke should the verbal artillery ever break out.
(The trick is to leave on your boots and say they’re “part of your outfit”.)
Best self-given Christmas gift ever.