I walked into our home, put my bag down, and was immediately assaulted by my sherry-soaked mother’s affectionate disinterest. I was home because the diseased husk of holiday tradition had crawled its way atop the Mechante family—presumably just as my father breathed his last sober breath: It was Christmas yet again.
For most people, not being able to be at home with their families on Christmas is provocation for deep sadness, or at the very least, obnoxious outbursts of whining. Believe me, there are worse things.
I’ve been told that mine is a family of backhanded remarks. I have always been under the belief that while we rarely wound with anything but our words, our aggression is entirely open-handed. Surprisingly, we all managed to behave ourselves until Christmas dinner. At the behest of my mother, I invited my girlfriend and her immediate family over for the event.
“I have no interest in meeting any grandparents, or, god forbid, cousins,” she said.
Of course the calm wouldn’t last. The collective conscious of our little unit pulsed with black thoughts of familial rage. In short order, someone would have had to burst in a seizure-fit of unrestrained hatred.
For once, it wasn’t me. My older brother, the Canadian-Japanese philosopher, Mechante-San let his fist crash into the hardwood and seethed out his unofficial catchphrase, “I don’t know why I come back here. You’re all fakes.”
My father laughed and laughed until his brandy slipped out of his hand and sloshed onto the table. My mother leaped to her feet and rubbed my father’s monogrammed napkin into the spilled liquor.
“You’re an animal,” she said.
“You, love,” my father said. “You’re right,” he continued to laugh.
I set my wine glass down and brought a cigarette to my lips, “Merry Christmas.”
“That is a filthy habit,” my brother spat.
My mother took a silver serving tray from the corner of the room and began piling her dishes onto it. She sighed into her chair and threw the tray at my father. Everything splashed onto the floor.
My girlfriend gasped. My father stopped laughing. He leaned over to my mother’s overturned wine glass and began to fill it. I tossed my cigarette at my brother and it stuck into his mashed potatoes. Finally, my girlfriend’s father gathered his family and promptly made an exit.
Of course, this has been a clever satire. It may indeed seem as though I am trying to convince you about the evils of the holidays. In fact, the horrid spectacle of dinner caused my girlfriend’s father to denounce our family and forbid his daughter from ever seeing me.
This forbidden-fruit element has made our relationships stronger than ever. So, we thus learn for certain that Christmas is a wonderful time and should be spent with your family.
