As mentioned already, probably more than once because gawd I’m repetitive, I do not do Christmas. I don’t endorse what’s being celebrated (birth of Christ, rescue of capitalism, etc). “Christmas joy” as hyped by Hallmark is a canard, but the truest tradition of the holiday is Christmas disappointment, which is why, many years ago, I stopped participating.
No presents. No cards. No family gatherings. No arguments, no hugs, no stupid red cap with a white fluffball. I’m not hostile to other people having a nice time, but for me it’s 100% disinterest and non-participation.
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The closest I come to celebrating Christmas is having lunch with Leon, an old friend who has no living family left in the Seattle area. We’d arranged to meet at our preferred restaurant, 11AM on the 25th.
Then, a few days before Xmas, came a text from my sister Katrina. She lives with our 90-something mom, and said they’d be visiting Hazel on Christmas. Hazel is my other sister, who’s disabled and on hospice care.
Katrina asked, Would I like to come along? Well, Hazel’s not long for this world, and I’m glad she’s alive, so I said sure. Hazel can’t really talk, but she loves Christmas carols, and I don’t mind singing ’em and seeing her happy. Katrina offered to drive, and I said, cool, please pick me up at 12:15 at the restaurant, after my lunch with Leon.
Katrina’s next text started, Hey Doug! Would I like to come back to their house, after the Hazel singalong, for snacks with Mom and sis?
This was starting to seem suspiciously like “Christmas with the family,” the invitation I’d been declining for about 40 years, but something went fa-la-la-la-la in my head, and OMG, I said yes.
Same day, a few hours later, came a text from my brother Clay, not asking but telling me he’d be joining Leon and I for Christmas lunch. And almost immediately after that, a text from my other brother Dick said he’d be at the restaurant, too.
Suddenly, strangely, I had Christmas plans with the family, something I’ve avoided for decades. But here’s the unexpected twist. You’re thinking this story is leading toward something absurd, as usually happens with my family, but it isn’t. That’s what’s absurd — I bring you good tidings of great joy.
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Lunch with Leon and Clay and Dick, and their wives Karen and Young-sook, was nice. The food was good, Young-Sook kept her hands out of it, and nobody mentioned Jesus Joseph and Mary, or Donald frickin’ Trump. We shared laughs, and tales of old times, and if Leon hadn’t reminded me, I might’ve forgotten to be out in the parking lot for Katrina to pick me up at 12:15.
In the drizzle on the asphalt, I said goodbye and merry Christmas to Leon and Clay and Karen and Dick and Young-sook, and hello and merry Christmas to Katrina and Mom and Adelle.
Have you met Adelle? She’s Katrina’s best friend for 60 years, and like my pal Leon, she has no living family in Seattle, so she’s always invited to our family holidays. And she’s not only Katrina’s friend, she’s become my friend, too.
After a freeway drive in the rainy gray, we arrived at Hazel’s house, where she was in her wheelchair and happy to see us. We sang for an hour and a half, and even on carols I’d consider obscure, like “Good King Wenceslas” or “God Rest Ye Merry, Gentlemen,” Hazel mouthed the words, accurately. Me, I only hummed. Most of that stuff’s been long expelled from my brain.
Then came another freeway drive through Seattle’s famous rainy gray, and the four of us — Katrina, Adelle, me, and Mom — were at Katrina & Mom’s house. Walking in, the place was immaculate, but Katrina and Mom are slobs like me, and their house is always a mess, so WTF?
In a eureka moment, I knew what I should’ve known all along: The entire day had been a set-up. Mom is a brilliant strategist. She’d known I’d decline a straightforward “come to Christmas” invitation, so she’d nudged Clay and Dick to join me for lunch, and cajoled Katrina to clean up the house, all for this very special “we’ll have snacks” Christmas.
I didn’t ask her about it. There’s no need to. I know my momma, and know what had happened behind the scenes.
And yet, our “we’ll have snacks” Christmas was not only not unpleasant, it was … pleasant! The four of us sang songs, ate grapes and celery and dip, and Adelle played the piano real nice.
Remarkably, the television was off. I’ve been to their house many times, even slept there for a few weeks when I first moved back to Seattle in 2022, and the TV has always, always been on. Mom perpetually watches the dumbest reality/freak shows, usually about enormously fat people trying to lose weight, about a family of dwarfs, or gypsies. When she’s tired of that circus, she clicks to Kenneth Copeland or any of the many Jesus freaks on TV. For this visit, though, the TV was black and silent, which was (seriously) quite a sacrifice on Mom’s part, though she never mentioned it.
In addition to blowing my mind, this lack-of-TV blew my escape plan. Whenever I visit, and Mom turns the TV on, I stay about one more hour and then I’m gone. Without TV, we all talked, and I stayed, and we talked longer.
The conversation wasn’t what I would’ve expected, either. Our family tradition is to read the nativity chapter from the Bible on Christmas day, but that didn’t happen, and near as I can recollect, Jesus never entered the conversation. We talked about good times, happy memories, dead family, and the joy of all of us being retired.
Oh, sure, Mom offered updates on her fat-people reality shows, but at no time did she use that to cajole me to lose weight. She never brought up that I’d been missing for years. She never mentioned my immortal soul.
It was nuts, man. Mon always says something uncomfortable, judgmental, but instead she offered funny stories from our childhoods and hers. Katrina broke out a box of old, unsorted family photos. Adelle talked politics, and soon the topic turned to that health insurance CEO schmuck who got shot dead in midtown Manhattan. When I said I hoped such assassinations would become a Christmas tradition, Mom was speechless. Or maybe she was asleep, I’m not sure.
Eventually a few gifts were unwrapped and exchanged. I didn’t give anyone anything, because I don’t do Christmas and they all know it, but I don’t object to receiving gifts. Came home with a jar of peanut butter, and a t-shirt, and a big box of fancy cookies.
It was dark when I left, 8:00ish, which means I’d been socializing with friends and family for nine solid hours, with no breaks except a few tinkle-trips to the bathroom.
All the way home on the bus, I couldn’t get over what had happened, and what hadn’t — no arguments, no haranguing. It left me shell-shocked, but not in the way my family usually leaves me shell-shocked.
Understand, please, that I am a tremendously introverted man. Spending time with people, even people I love, is difficult. Nine hours? Excluding my late wife, I honestly cannot remember once in my adult life socializing with people for nine consecutive hours. And yet, I not only survived it, I enjoyed it. I could’ve stayed longer, if I hadn’t been getting kinda sleepy.
Never thought I’d write, un-ironically, “It was the best Christmas ever,” but it was at least tied with when I was seven, and got a battery-powered Robby the Robot. Gobsmack me every one, I had a nice holiday with my family.
12/27/2024
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