“You down with OPP?
Oh No! Not me”
Its official, the holiday season is over. I know because the 99 cent store has Valentine’s Day decorations up already. This post is extremely late because I have been extremely lazy. But, I was over a friend’s house on Monday and she was playing Christmas music and still had some of her decorations up, so I figured “What the heck”. Don’t judge me. Coming back from the Christmas break at work, I heard a lot of stories; some good, some bad. Whether you have family or not, how you spend your holidays can turn into a nightmare.
When I was a kid, we would usually spend the holidays with my mother’s cousin. She lived with her husband and privately educated son on hill in a high priced neighborhood with a sloped back yard and a view of the city and a Benz and a Rolls parked in the garage. Even as a kid I sensed they felt like they were doing us a favor. My mother felt it too. After a falling out, we didn’t spend anymore holidays with them.
When I was in Junior High when my mother came up to me; swirling her drink in hand, the ice clinking against the sides.
“What are you doing for Christmas?” She asked.
“Huhhhh. I don’t know.”
“I’m not doing anything here. See if you can find something to do.”
Thus began my journey of spending holidays with other people’s families.
That junior year I went to my ‘boyfriend’s’ (well, however much of a boyfriend you can have at 16 years old) home to spend it with his family. It was his parents, John (not his real name) and myself. John came from a nice Christian home. They went to church every Sunday and his parents had been high school sweethearts.
The mother, looked at me strangely across the table. She couldn’t understand why I was there, even though she said it was ok for me to come. “So you’re not spending the holidays with your family?” She said. “Where is your mother again? You said she was home? By herself? And where is your dad?” After skirting the answer in all the ways my young brain could come up with; I went for the direct approach; “My mother is an alcoholic and my father is so consumed with his sister and her daughter, he won’t notice whether I’m there or not.” Pause. “Oh.” She said. No more questions were asked.
Please Note Proper Protocol – When asking the displaced over to partake in your family’s dinner; please refrain from asking probing questions at the dinner table. Questions such as, “Why aren’t you with your with your family?” are not acceptable. The displaced person or persons already feel uncomfortable. Placing them in the hot seat while they are trying to chew the incredibly dry turkey you just gave them, borders on cruel behavior. Instead, try this. Invasive questions should be handled in the old’skool way. Invite the female into the kitchen with and get all in her business while she’s helping you whip the potatoes. The males should be interrogated while watching some sort of sports in the living room with the other male family members. Please note questions should be asked casually while passing the salted peanuts or gas.
I thought spending my holidays with these new and diverse people would be temporary. It was good to see a picture of what a loving family looks like. I learned it is not proper to hurl things across the room when served a glass of room temperature water, when cold is what was needed. I held on to positive family snap shot and expected to apply it to my own life with my own family and even hoped to share my family with someone else who was displaced.
In my mid 20’s; I was hanging out with a friend of mine. She had had a rough year and was looking forward to going home to spend it with her family. We chatted while she packed. “How are you spending your Christmas?” she asked. I told I was spending it with the family of a co-worker. “I don’t how you do that! You don’t know them!”. I reasoned it was an opportunity to meet new people…blah, blah, blah. She told me of her bad experiences. I reasoned she was drinking a glass of haterade. Her experiences weren’t mine, at least not yet. Yes, I maybe had some uncomfortable experiences, but I hadn’t really looked at them as bad.
Well now I’m drinking from a glass of haterade; my own’ family never came. I reached my late 30’s and I was still spending my holidays with random and diverse people. What I found particularly interesting was the change in response from people as I got older. I guess you’re doing a good deed when you invite a child over to spend the holidays. After all…it’s not the child’s fault. They don’t have anywhere to go…We have so much, why wouldn’t we share it with this poor creature. When you’re adult you start moving into the loser category. And God help you if you show up 2 years in a row. Apparently there is some sort of protocol I was unaware of. Is it one year on and one year off? I’m still not sure.
At one Christmas dinner, a family member of the host said to me:
“You’re here again this year. So you mean to tell me, nothing has happened or changed in your life since I last saw you? No boyfriend? No other friends?”
Let me assure you the displaced are not freaks of nature (well, maybe some of them are, but not many…well…) They are either:
A. People who didn’t have enough money to fly home for the holidays
B. People who had crappy parents, and they would rather pull out their own eyelashes rather than spend the holidays with _______ fill in the blank.
C. Are truly freaks of nature.
What possesses people to say such things? Have the nitrates in the fruitcake sullied the brain cells controlling the internal filter separating their inner thoughts from the crap they let come out of their mouth; or maybe it’s the booze.
Some people think they are entitled to get all up in your business with embarrassing family questions because they are feeding you. The dinner table (even if it’s yours) is not the time to exercise your right to know.
I began to understand just what my friend was talking about oh those many years before.
I don’t know why, but 3’s are significant to me. You slap me once; I think maybe there was a fly on my face. Slap me twice, I think; surely I must have walked into your hand while it was in mid air. Slap me 3 times, well, it’s obvious at this point; you’re trying to tell me something.
There were 3 specific incidents leading to the ending of my OPP days with other people’s families.
Thanksgiving XXXX
Mind you, I was growing a little weary of spending my holidays with people I didn’t really know well if al all. At this time I was going to a mid-week bible study at a Baptist church. One of the women was the acting mother of the church. You know the one – the widow that says ‘Praise the Lord” after every sentence and gives hugs that would give life to the dead. Everyone called her Mother Gladys or just plain mother. She had one son, who was married, and she always spoke of how proud she was of him. I had no plans. She was a very lovely woman. “We eat early and on time, around 2pm. That is early, but I thought it would be ok.
Her home was filled with the smells of turkey and dressing and pumpkin pie. She had pulled out the table extension which had been hiding in the garage and lengthened the table so everyone could fit. I had asked Mother Gladys what I could bring. “Nothing,” she answered joyfully. “I’m so happy you’re coming. Praise the Lord.”
“Yes praise Him.”
The cousins were pleasant; two males and one was female; all there with their spouses. They were older and they greeted me with sincere smiles. From the men I got hearty handshakes. From the women I got warm hugs. It was awkward. I sought an escape. I asked mother is I could help her with anything in the kitchen.
“Just sit down and enjoy yourself. Praise the Lord.”
(Yes, praise Him)
I went back into the living room and tried to fit into the conversation. They talked of currents events, car repair and the perils of gardening.
Then Mother G’s son (let’s call him Lewis) arrived. He had a lovely wife and two of the most beautiful children; a daughter, 7 and her younger brother, 3 or maybe he was 4. The son’s energy completely changed the atmosphere in the room, which was beginning to remind me of a lounge at a senior care facility. Lewis was young and vibrant with the presence of a politician. He hugged and shook hands with the family as if he was on the campaign trail. Then came my turn.
“This is Tracy, from church and Wednesday night bible study,” Mother G said. She was grinning so hard I thought her cheeks would explode, sending pixie dust throughout the room.
I esthetically extended my hand out, “It’s so nice to meet you.” I said. Your mom also speaks so highly of you.”
Crickets.
He looked at my hand; looked at his mother and then looked at me. It seemed like several minutes had passed but I knew it was only seconds. Do I take my hand back? Well, everyone has seen it by now. ‘He’s gotta take it. He’s just got to. Take it man! You’re on the campaign trail…remember?
Mother G was oblivious to this. She gazed at her son with eyes of unprejudiced love.
Lewis reluctantly took my hand. His wife was polite. Her smile dialed down from where it was when she first walked in. She gave me a firm handshake, wrapping her perfectly manicured fingers around my hand.
Realization: Some people are stingy with their families, like a 2 year old is with a toy. “It’s my racing car, go get your own!”
Clearly Mother G had not had the, “I invited someone over for holiday dinner” conversation. As the host, she seemed to be unaware of the stinginess of her family. She was too busy brimming over with love and happiness. I however, was very aware and painfully so.
As the cousins became enamored with Lewis, I was not included in the group conversation. When I tried to slide in a comment or a laugh; I was ignored. I tried to start up a conversation with Lewis’s wife when she stepped away from the group to attend to one of her children. She would only respond with one word answers. While Mother G had the spirit of the Lord inside her, clearly the others did not.
During dinner as I sat towards the end of the table, you know the section delegated to the children. The food was passed down; I’d scoop and pass it across the table to another family member who would do the same.
After praying for the food, the word spoken eloquently by Lewis, we all ate. The dinner table was pretty quiet except for the occasional praises to the Mother G for her cooking.
Mother G had just remembered a funny story. It was about Lewis and one of the first Christmas’ her and her husband (God rest his soul) had experienced. Lewis loudly cleared his throat. Mother G looked to make sure he was alright and then she continued. He cleared it a little louder this time. I remember thinking how it must have hurt his throat. Lewis glanced over in my direction as if to say, ‘Not in mixed company.’ Then one of the cousins distracted her by asking for something from the kitchen.
I looked at the clock hanging on the wall. I wondered how soon after dinner could I leave without seeming rude to the host. Maybe Mother G had invited someone over who robbed them at a previous holiday dinner.
At dessert, weary from my previous attempts to fit in, I simply sat in the corner and ate my piece of pie. The little boy came up to me and stretching on his tippy toes, gave me a kiss on the cheek. (Ahhhh, if only emotionally healthy, grown, Christian men responded to me like that). His sister was hiding around the doorway giggling. I watched him clumsily try to sit in the seat next to me, so I helped him up. His sister sat on the other side of me giving me interpretations of her brothers giggles. Mother G had put on a cartoon for them in the spare room. The little girl asked me if I would join them. I did. I had finally found acceptance. While the cartoon played, they told me about the toys they had gotten and about school and demonstrated how they knew how to count. I stayed until they fell asleep, with me in the middle.
How could such a rude man, produce such lovely children. I thanked Mother G for a nice dinner and I said my goodbyes to her family. “It was nice to meet you all.” I lied but it was the polite thing to say.
As I walked to my car, I noticed the perfect fall day. The street was lined with trees whose leaves had fallen on the ground. I could here them crunching under my shoes. It was a very picturesque early evening. I thought to myself, “Never Again.”
CHRISTMAS 2002
I had every intention of staying home. But Nicky (not her real name) was no stranger. To give a little back story Nicky and I had been friends since we were in the fourth grade. She had gotten pregnant our senior year in high school. She married the father. They had two boys and then got divorced and a few years later she married another man and had a daughter. I was accepted during the first regime; the new regime however, was very hostile. Or in other words the 2nd husband, Mark, did not like me and all efforts to change his mind were futile.
Nicky and I had been through a lot together. To me Nicky was the closest thing to family I had. She was like a sister to me.
I called Nicky a week or so before Christmas. I asked her when was a good time for me to drop off the gifts for the kids. I wanted to be sure they had them on Christmas morning.
“What? You won’t be here?”
“No.”
“But it’s tradition. Aren’t you going to be here to help me wrap the gifts? And you have to be here to watch them open them in the morning.”
“Well, you’re married now and I don’t think Mark would like it. I don’t want to cause any problems.”
“What? You know Mark…he’s just quiet.” (Why do women always cover up for their husbands. Why not keep it real, “Yeah girl, I caught him sticking pins in your picture.”)
Then she added, “You’re like family. You have to be here. And besides…I’m making breakfast.” Breakfast…did you say breakfast? (And she was quite the Martha Stewart) That’s all it took. I had already forgotten about the vow I made on Thanksgiving.
I was just going to be there for the morning. They were going to Mark’s sister around 4pm and I had received an early afternoon invitation, so it was going to work out perfectly. I reasoned, I had over reacted to my Thanksgiving experience. I was excited. It was going to be a great day.
It was 6:30 am Christmas morning and I am sooo sick. My sinus’ are in complete rebellion to the rest of my body and I have been forced to breath through my mouth for more than 10 hours. Nicky said to be there at 9-9:30. I kept wondering when the antihistamines I had been taking were to kick in. Sometimes it doesn’t pay to buy generic. I’m just sayin.
You’re not suppose to take the medicine on an empty stomach so I hold off on my 2nd dose of cold medicine until I get to Nicky’s house; after all breakfast will be served. I make the drive from the Valley to Inglewood and arrive at Nicky’s house by 9:30…ish.
I walk down the driveway of the apartment complex with gifts in hand and a tissue box under one of my arms. The children of the building were already outside playing: I side stepped new bicycles and racing cars as I made my way to the back door. Nicky’s kids had seen me by now and raced me to the back door, anxious to see what I had brought them. As we walked through the kitchen, I noticed no smell of spiced apple cider or pancakes and bacon. I noticed nothing at all. It wasn’t as if I missed the meal, there were no dishes in the sink. No pans on the stove.
The boys tore away the wrapping then they gave me hugs and thank you’s before taking their new toys outside to play with. To be honest I can’t remember what I got them, but I remember they liked it. The daughter however stayed at my side talking to me a mile a minute and showing me everything Santa brought her.
Nicky and I exchanged gifts – still I can’t remember. And I even got Mark a gift. He looked at the crudely wrapped box as if it was emitting some strange odor. Perhaps there is cultural issue I am unaware of. Is there a specific way you are to extend greetings or offerings of peace without getting the stink eye? Mark took the gift, mumbled off a ‘thank you’ and dismissed himself out of the living room and into the hallway.
“I thought there was suppose to be breakfast. Didn’t you say to come between 9 and 9:30?
“Yes, but the kids woke up at 8”
“So there’s no breakfast?”
Nicky smiled at me rather dismissively, as if I was talking out of the side of my neck, and followed after Mark. I needed to take my 2nd dose of cold medicine so I grabbed a cookie in a Christmas tin Nicky received from a co-worker. It wasn’t a waffle but I couldn’t take my medicine on an empty stomach. Nicky’s daughter was following me about the apartment, talking to me about this and that and asking if I would play dolls with her. I tried. Apparently there is a proper way to hold Barbie that I just wasn’t getting the hang of. As she proceeded to demonstrate, I settled onto the couch and leaned my head back. My God given right to breathe through my nose was going to be mine again.
Nicky came back into the living room and told her daughter to go outside and play with the other kids. I asked her if it was ok if I just rested on the couch. It was a rhetorical question. I expected her to say yes; we were after all - like family. I even closed my eyes and leaned my head back.
“So, I hope you have a good day.”
“What?” I asked.
“Aren’t you going to your friend’s house for dinner?”
“Yes, but you know that’s not until 2. We talked about this. Are you guys leaving earlier? Have your plans changed?”
“No.”
“That’s ok about breakfast; I just need to close my eyes for a bit.”
Nicky let out a sigh and turned around, walking back into the bedroom. I closed my eyes. The medicine was starting to kick in. I was feeling drowsy. One of her son’s ran in with a friend and got another toy before running out again.
I felt this presence over me. I opened one of my eyes and there she was; Nicky standing in front of me with her arms folded.
“You have to go.”
I opened my other eye. She was joking right. My nose is clogged, my cheeks are puffy; I wondered if I was hearing her wrong. Maybe I was sleeping right now and this was a bad dream. Maybe I was still sleeping in my bed and never left my house to drive all the way to Inglewood from the valley on Christmas morning to watch kids open presents that have already been opened and to eat a full course breakfast that doesn’t exist; because that would be insane right? Right?
But Nicky stood above me and she was very serious.
“But you said it would be ok if I hung out until it was time for me to go. Are you guys having people over?”
“No.”
“I don’t understand. I called you a week ago to ask you when I could drop the gifts off. I didn’t have to be here. If plans changed why didn’t you call me last night…this morning before I left? It would have been ok. Why am I here Nicky? Why am I here?”
Silence.
“I don’t understand.” I pause. “What? Is this so you guys can have sex? (And I gotta be honest. I used the f-word for sex. Don’t judge me. I couldn’t breathe) Is that what this is about? I don’t care. Your room is way down the end of the hallway. My ears are stopped up, close the door, I won’t hear anything. I’ve just taken some cold medicine and I can’t get in a car and drive. What’s wrong with you guys anyway? Its Christmas morning. Children are all over the place; your bedroom window is around back where the kids are playing and your children are running in and out of the living room. You can’t hold off until tonight? I’m sooo sick. You can’t wait til after 1?”
Silence and hip shift, “You have to go.”
I am beyond pissed. If I hadn’t been so ill and if children hadn’t been all over the place, I would have taken things to a whole new level of ghetto. I thought of her invitation, “…But we’re like family.”
That statement has become such a cliché like, “Let’s do lunch” or “I Love you.” Maybe people mean it at the time it falls out of their mouths but I learned that day, “No, we weren’t like family at all and friendship was questionable.
I gathered myself together and left. It wasn’t even 10:30, too early to go to my 2nd Christmas stop. The dinner was in another part of L.A. and I was still really groggy, so slept in my car for 2 hours before heading out on the road to experience what was turning out to be a wonderful Christmas.
PART 2
The host was fine with me being there a little early – thank goodness. It was a full house, mostly family and a few friends. The meal was served on time, which was good because at this point, I was starving. The people were nice and welcoming. After the meal, some had split off into one room to play a game while others had settled in front of the tv to watch a movie. I was part of the latter.
I found a perfect spot on the couch, the corner. I nestled into it and sunk back. My slice of sweet potato pie was in my lap and I was in heaven. It was wonderful until the fight broke out. I don’t know what happened in the game room, but it was one of those verbal arguments that silenced the whole house.
What do you do in those situations? This is family business. I shouldn’t be here. Once the first person leaves others begin to trickle out. I was somewhere in the middle. The hosts were lovely but it was time to go.
I walk to my car; there are no leaves on the ground this time; it’s just cold. I can breathe now. I take in a whiff and let my lungs expand and contract. I say to myself, “Never again.” And this time I mean it.
It was good to be around loving families to get a good model of how it should be done, but after almost 20 years of it, I’m done.
New Suggestions for the Holidays – cause they will be coming again. (Sigh)
Volunteer – I have volunteered on a few Thanksgivings serving the homeless. I’ve worked either in the kitchen or bringing the food out to them. It’s nice watching a whole community of people get together and work for something outside of themselves. You meet some very interesting people who have some very interesting stories. It’s not always what you might think that puts them in this situation. It reminds me many of us are a few situations away from being homeless.
Get togethers for strays – part of the problem with spending your holidays with other people’s families is the ratio is not working in your favor. You are one, they are many. With stray dinners, you have a random group of people who have no family, bad family or didn’t have the money to go home. In any case, they’re happy to have some place to go. One of my favorite dinners was on Thanksgiving a few years back. Two roommates set up two long party tables in the courtyard of their apartment complex, complete with homemade party hats. Everybody brought something. There were about 30 people. Afterwards we piled in their living room and watched a movie. We all had our different reasons for being there, but for that day we were all family.
Another time a friend and I got together and made (Well, she made…I picked up) a Christmas dinner. We invited people we knew wouldn’t be able to make it home or those who didn’t want to go home. My friend decided to make a sweet potato pie, but we couldn’t understand why the sweep potatoes were white because all the sweet potato pies we had in the past had always been orange. “Maybe it turns orange when you bake it” we thought. It did not. How were we to know that yams are used in sweet potato pie? But I guess sweet potato pie sounds better than yam pie.
Alone – Sometimes, I make a little something. Sometimes I drive around and see what’s open. This year I went to a matinee and picked up something to eat at this Argentinean restaurant called LALA’s. It was delicious.
I don’t want anymore holidays that feel like power lunches. It’s like the theme song to that old show called Cheers:
Sometimes you want to go
Where everybody knows your name,
and they're always glad you came.
You wanna be where you can see,
our troubles are all the same
You wanna be where everybody knows
Your name.
Though it may look different for some of us, aren’t the holidays about being somewhere you belong.
Until next year…
Oh No! Not me”
Its official, the holiday season is over. I know because the 99 cent store has Valentine’s Day decorations up already. This post is extremely late because I have been extremely lazy. But, I was over a friend’s house on Monday and she was playing Christmas music and still had some of her decorations up, so I figured “What the heck”. Don’t judge me. Coming back from the Christmas break at work, I heard a lot of stories; some good, some bad. Whether you have family or not, how you spend your holidays can turn into a nightmare.
When I was a kid, we would usually spend the holidays with my mother’s cousin. She lived with her husband and privately educated son on hill in a high priced neighborhood with a sloped back yard and a view of the city and a Benz and a Rolls parked in the garage. Even as a kid I sensed they felt like they were doing us a favor. My mother felt it too. After a falling out, we didn’t spend anymore holidays with them.
When I was in Junior High when my mother came up to me; swirling her drink in hand, the ice clinking against the sides.
“What are you doing for Christmas?” She asked.
“Huhhhh. I don’t know.”
“I’m not doing anything here. See if you can find something to do.”
Thus began my journey of spending holidays with other people’s families.
That junior year I went to my ‘boyfriend’s’ (well, however much of a boyfriend you can have at 16 years old) home to spend it with his family. It was his parents, John (not his real name) and myself. John came from a nice Christian home. They went to church every Sunday and his parents had been high school sweethearts.
The mother, looked at me strangely across the table. She couldn’t understand why I was there, even though she said it was ok for me to come. “So you’re not spending the holidays with your family?” She said. “Where is your mother again? You said she was home? By herself? And where is your dad?” After skirting the answer in all the ways my young brain could come up with; I went for the direct approach; “My mother is an alcoholic and my father is so consumed with his sister and her daughter, he won’t notice whether I’m there or not.” Pause. “Oh.” She said. No more questions were asked.
Please Note Proper Protocol – When asking the displaced over to partake in your family’s dinner; please refrain from asking probing questions at the dinner table. Questions such as, “Why aren’t you with your with your family?” are not acceptable. The displaced person or persons already feel uncomfortable. Placing them in the hot seat while they are trying to chew the incredibly dry turkey you just gave them, borders on cruel behavior. Instead, try this. Invasive questions should be handled in the old’skool way. Invite the female into the kitchen with and get all in her business while she’s helping you whip the potatoes. The males should be interrogated while watching some sort of sports in the living room with the other male family members. Please note questions should be asked casually while passing the salted peanuts or gas.
I thought spending my holidays with these new and diverse people would be temporary. It was good to see a picture of what a loving family looks like. I learned it is not proper to hurl things across the room when served a glass of room temperature water, when cold is what was needed. I held on to positive family snap shot and expected to apply it to my own life with my own family and even hoped to share my family with someone else who was displaced.
In my mid 20’s; I was hanging out with a friend of mine. She had had a rough year and was looking forward to going home to spend it with her family. We chatted while she packed. “How are you spending your Christmas?” she asked. I told I was spending it with the family of a co-worker. “I don’t how you do that! You don’t know them!”. I reasoned it was an opportunity to meet new people…blah, blah, blah. She told me of her bad experiences. I reasoned she was drinking a glass of haterade. Her experiences weren’t mine, at least not yet. Yes, I maybe had some uncomfortable experiences, but I hadn’t really looked at them as bad.
Well now I’m drinking from a glass of haterade; my own’ family never came. I reached my late 30’s and I was still spending my holidays with random and diverse people. What I found particularly interesting was the change in response from people as I got older. I guess you’re doing a good deed when you invite a child over to spend the holidays. After all…it’s not the child’s fault. They don’t have anywhere to go…We have so much, why wouldn’t we share it with this poor creature. When you’re adult you start moving into the loser category. And God help you if you show up 2 years in a row. Apparently there is some sort of protocol I was unaware of. Is it one year on and one year off? I’m still not sure.
At one Christmas dinner, a family member of the host said to me:
“You’re here again this year. So you mean to tell me, nothing has happened or changed in your life since I last saw you? No boyfriend? No other friends?”
Let me assure you the displaced are not freaks of nature (well, maybe some of them are, but not many…well…) They are either:
A. People who didn’t have enough money to fly home for the holidays
B. People who had crappy parents, and they would rather pull out their own eyelashes rather than spend the holidays with _______ fill in the blank.
C. Are truly freaks of nature.
What possesses people to say such things? Have the nitrates in the fruitcake sullied the brain cells controlling the internal filter separating their inner thoughts from the crap they let come out of their mouth; or maybe it’s the booze.
Some people think they are entitled to get all up in your business with embarrassing family questions because they are feeding you. The dinner table (even if it’s yours) is not the time to exercise your right to know.
I began to understand just what my friend was talking about oh those many years before.
I don’t know why, but 3’s are significant to me. You slap me once; I think maybe there was a fly on my face. Slap me twice, I think; surely I must have walked into your hand while it was in mid air. Slap me 3 times, well, it’s obvious at this point; you’re trying to tell me something.
There were 3 specific incidents leading to the ending of my OPP days with other people’s families.
Thanksgiving XXXX
Mind you, I was growing a little weary of spending my holidays with people I didn’t really know well if al all. At this time I was going to a mid-week bible study at a Baptist church. One of the women was the acting mother of the church. You know the one – the widow that says ‘Praise the Lord” after every sentence and gives hugs that would give life to the dead. Everyone called her Mother Gladys or just plain mother. She had one son, who was married, and she always spoke of how proud she was of him. I had no plans. She was a very lovely woman. “We eat early and on time, around 2pm. That is early, but I thought it would be ok.
Her home was filled with the smells of turkey and dressing and pumpkin pie. She had pulled out the table extension which had been hiding in the garage and lengthened the table so everyone could fit. I had asked Mother Gladys what I could bring. “Nothing,” she answered joyfully. “I’m so happy you’re coming. Praise the Lord.”
“Yes praise Him.”
The cousins were pleasant; two males and one was female; all there with their spouses. They were older and they greeted me with sincere smiles. From the men I got hearty handshakes. From the women I got warm hugs. It was awkward. I sought an escape. I asked mother is I could help her with anything in the kitchen.
“Just sit down and enjoy yourself. Praise the Lord.”
(Yes, praise Him)
I went back into the living room and tried to fit into the conversation. They talked of currents events, car repair and the perils of gardening.
Then Mother G’s son (let’s call him Lewis) arrived. He had a lovely wife and two of the most beautiful children; a daughter, 7 and her younger brother, 3 or maybe he was 4. The son’s energy completely changed the atmosphere in the room, which was beginning to remind me of a lounge at a senior care facility. Lewis was young and vibrant with the presence of a politician. He hugged and shook hands with the family as if he was on the campaign trail. Then came my turn.
“This is Tracy, from church and Wednesday night bible study,” Mother G said. She was grinning so hard I thought her cheeks would explode, sending pixie dust throughout the room.
I esthetically extended my hand out, “It’s so nice to meet you.” I said. Your mom also speaks so highly of you.”
Crickets.
He looked at my hand; looked at his mother and then looked at me. It seemed like several minutes had passed but I knew it was only seconds. Do I take my hand back? Well, everyone has seen it by now. ‘He’s gotta take it. He’s just got to. Take it man! You’re on the campaign trail…remember?
Mother G was oblivious to this. She gazed at her son with eyes of unprejudiced love.
Lewis reluctantly took my hand. His wife was polite. Her smile dialed down from where it was when she first walked in. She gave me a firm handshake, wrapping her perfectly manicured fingers around my hand.
Realization: Some people are stingy with their families, like a 2 year old is with a toy. “It’s my racing car, go get your own!”
Clearly Mother G had not had the, “I invited someone over for holiday dinner” conversation. As the host, she seemed to be unaware of the stinginess of her family. She was too busy brimming over with love and happiness. I however, was very aware and painfully so.
As the cousins became enamored with Lewis, I was not included in the group conversation. When I tried to slide in a comment or a laugh; I was ignored. I tried to start up a conversation with Lewis’s wife when she stepped away from the group to attend to one of her children. She would only respond with one word answers. While Mother G had the spirit of the Lord inside her, clearly the others did not.
During dinner as I sat towards the end of the table, you know the section delegated to the children. The food was passed down; I’d scoop and pass it across the table to another family member who would do the same.
After praying for the food, the word spoken eloquently by Lewis, we all ate. The dinner table was pretty quiet except for the occasional praises to the Mother G for her cooking.
Mother G had just remembered a funny story. It was about Lewis and one of the first Christmas’ her and her husband (God rest his soul) had experienced. Lewis loudly cleared his throat. Mother G looked to make sure he was alright and then she continued. He cleared it a little louder this time. I remember thinking how it must have hurt his throat. Lewis glanced over in my direction as if to say, ‘Not in mixed company.’ Then one of the cousins distracted her by asking for something from the kitchen.
I looked at the clock hanging on the wall. I wondered how soon after dinner could I leave without seeming rude to the host. Maybe Mother G had invited someone over who robbed them at a previous holiday dinner.
At dessert, weary from my previous attempts to fit in, I simply sat in the corner and ate my piece of pie. The little boy came up to me and stretching on his tippy toes, gave me a kiss on the cheek. (Ahhhh, if only emotionally healthy, grown, Christian men responded to me like that). His sister was hiding around the doorway giggling. I watched him clumsily try to sit in the seat next to me, so I helped him up. His sister sat on the other side of me giving me interpretations of her brothers giggles. Mother G had put on a cartoon for them in the spare room. The little girl asked me if I would join them. I did. I had finally found acceptance. While the cartoon played, they told me about the toys they had gotten and about school and demonstrated how they knew how to count. I stayed until they fell asleep, with me in the middle.
How could such a rude man, produce such lovely children. I thanked Mother G for a nice dinner and I said my goodbyes to her family. “It was nice to meet you all.” I lied but it was the polite thing to say.
As I walked to my car, I noticed the perfect fall day. The street was lined with trees whose leaves had fallen on the ground. I could here them crunching under my shoes. It was a very picturesque early evening. I thought to myself, “Never Again.”
CHRISTMAS 2002
I had every intention of staying home. But Nicky (not her real name) was no stranger. To give a little back story Nicky and I had been friends since we were in the fourth grade. She had gotten pregnant our senior year in high school. She married the father. They had two boys and then got divorced and a few years later she married another man and had a daughter. I was accepted during the first regime; the new regime however, was very hostile. Or in other words the 2nd husband, Mark, did not like me and all efforts to change his mind were futile.
Nicky and I had been through a lot together. To me Nicky was the closest thing to family I had. She was like a sister to me.
I called Nicky a week or so before Christmas. I asked her when was a good time for me to drop off the gifts for the kids. I wanted to be sure they had them on Christmas morning.
“What? You won’t be here?”
“No.”
“But it’s tradition. Aren’t you going to be here to help me wrap the gifts? And you have to be here to watch them open them in the morning.”
“Well, you’re married now and I don’t think Mark would like it. I don’t want to cause any problems.”
“What? You know Mark…he’s just quiet.” (Why do women always cover up for their husbands. Why not keep it real, “Yeah girl, I caught him sticking pins in your picture.”)
Then she added, “You’re like family. You have to be here. And besides…I’m making breakfast.” Breakfast…did you say breakfast? (And she was quite the Martha Stewart) That’s all it took. I had already forgotten about the vow I made on Thanksgiving.
I was just going to be there for the morning. They were going to Mark’s sister around 4pm and I had received an early afternoon invitation, so it was going to work out perfectly. I reasoned, I had over reacted to my Thanksgiving experience. I was excited. It was going to be a great day.
It was 6:30 am Christmas morning and I am sooo sick. My sinus’ are in complete rebellion to the rest of my body and I have been forced to breath through my mouth for more than 10 hours. Nicky said to be there at 9-9:30. I kept wondering when the antihistamines I had been taking were to kick in. Sometimes it doesn’t pay to buy generic. I’m just sayin.
You’re not suppose to take the medicine on an empty stomach so I hold off on my 2nd dose of cold medicine until I get to Nicky’s house; after all breakfast will be served. I make the drive from the Valley to Inglewood and arrive at Nicky’s house by 9:30…ish.
I walk down the driveway of the apartment complex with gifts in hand and a tissue box under one of my arms. The children of the building were already outside playing: I side stepped new bicycles and racing cars as I made my way to the back door. Nicky’s kids had seen me by now and raced me to the back door, anxious to see what I had brought them. As we walked through the kitchen, I noticed no smell of spiced apple cider or pancakes and bacon. I noticed nothing at all. It wasn’t as if I missed the meal, there were no dishes in the sink. No pans on the stove.
The boys tore away the wrapping then they gave me hugs and thank you’s before taking their new toys outside to play with. To be honest I can’t remember what I got them, but I remember they liked it. The daughter however stayed at my side talking to me a mile a minute and showing me everything Santa brought her.
Nicky and I exchanged gifts – still I can’t remember. And I even got Mark a gift. He looked at the crudely wrapped box as if it was emitting some strange odor. Perhaps there is cultural issue I am unaware of. Is there a specific way you are to extend greetings or offerings of peace without getting the stink eye? Mark took the gift, mumbled off a ‘thank you’ and dismissed himself out of the living room and into the hallway.
“I thought there was suppose to be breakfast. Didn’t you say to come between 9 and 9:30?
“Yes, but the kids woke up at 8”
“So there’s no breakfast?”
Nicky smiled at me rather dismissively, as if I was talking out of the side of my neck, and followed after Mark. I needed to take my 2nd dose of cold medicine so I grabbed a cookie in a Christmas tin Nicky received from a co-worker. It wasn’t a waffle but I couldn’t take my medicine on an empty stomach. Nicky’s daughter was following me about the apartment, talking to me about this and that and asking if I would play dolls with her. I tried. Apparently there is a proper way to hold Barbie that I just wasn’t getting the hang of. As she proceeded to demonstrate, I settled onto the couch and leaned my head back. My God given right to breathe through my nose was going to be mine again.
Nicky came back into the living room and told her daughter to go outside and play with the other kids. I asked her if it was ok if I just rested on the couch. It was a rhetorical question. I expected her to say yes; we were after all - like family. I even closed my eyes and leaned my head back.
“So, I hope you have a good day.”
“What?” I asked.
“Aren’t you going to your friend’s house for dinner?”
“Yes, but you know that’s not until 2. We talked about this. Are you guys leaving earlier? Have your plans changed?”
“No.”
“That’s ok about breakfast; I just need to close my eyes for a bit.”
Nicky let out a sigh and turned around, walking back into the bedroom. I closed my eyes. The medicine was starting to kick in. I was feeling drowsy. One of her son’s ran in with a friend and got another toy before running out again.
I felt this presence over me. I opened one of my eyes and there she was; Nicky standing in front of me with her arms folded.
“You have to go.”
I opened my other eye. She was joking right. My nose is clogged, my cheeks are puffy; I wondered if I was hearing her wrong. Maybe I was sleeping right now and this was a bad dream. Maybe I was still sleeping in my bed and never left my house to drive all the way to Inglewood from the valley on Christmas morning to watch kids open presents that have already been opened and to eat a full course breakfast that doesn’t exist; because that would be insane right? Right?
But Nicky stood above me and she was very serious.
“But you said it would be ok if I hung out until it was time for me to go. Are you guys having people over?”
“No.”
“I don’t understand. I called you a week ago to ask you when I could drop the gifts off. I didn’t have to be here. If plans changed why didn’t you call me last night…this morning before I left? It would have been ok. Why am I here Nicky? Why am I here?”
Silence.
“I don’t understand.” I pause. “What? Is this so you guys can have sex? (And I gotta be honest. I used the f-word for sex. Don’t judge me. I couldn’t breathe) Is that what this is about? I don’t care. Your room is way down the end of the hallway. My ears are stopped up, close the door, I won’t hear anything. I’ve just taken some cold medicine and I can’t get in a car and drive. What’s wrong with you guys anyway? Its Christmas morning. Children are all over the place; your bedroom window is around back where the kids are playing and your children are running in and out of the living room. You can’t hold off until tonight? I’m sooo sick. You can’t wait til after 1?”
Silence and hip shift, “You have to go.”
I am beyond pissed. If I hadn’t been so ill and if children hadn’t been all over the place, I would have taken things to a whole new level of ghetto. I thought of her invitation, “…But we’re like family.”
That statement has become such a cliché like, “Let’s do lunch” or “I Love you.” Maybe people mean it at the time it falls out of their mouths but I learned that day, “No, we weren’t like family at all and friendship was questionable.
I gathered myself together and left. It wasn’t even 10:30, too early to go to my 2nd Christmas stop. The dinner was in another part of L.A. and I was still really groggy, so slept in my car for 2 hours before heading out on the road to experience what was turning out to be a wonderful Christmas.
PART 2
The host was fine with me being there a little early – thank goodness. It was a full house, mostly family and a few friends. The meal was served on time, which was good because at this point, I was starving. The people were nice and welcoming. After the meal, some had split off into one room to play a game while others had settled in front of the tv to watch a movie. I was part of the latter.
I found a perfect spot on the couch, the corner. I nestled into it and sunk back. My slice of sweet potato pie was in my lap and I was in heaven. It was wonderful until the fight broke out. I don’t know what happened in the game room, but it was one of those verbal arguments that silenced the whole house.
What do you do in those situations? This is family business. I shouldn’t be here. Once the first person leaves others begin to trickle out. I was somewhere in the middle. The hosts were lovely but it was time to go.
I walk to my car; there are no leaves on the ground this time; it’s just cold. I can breathe now. I take in a whiff and let my lungs expand and contract. I say to myself, “Never again.” And this time I mean it.
It was good to be around loving families to get a good model of how it should be done, but after almost 20 years of it, I’m done.
New Suggestions for the Holidays – cause they will be coming again. (Sigh)
Volunteer – I have volunteered on a few Thanksgivings serving the homeless. I’ve worked either in the kitchen or bringing the food out to them. It’s nice watching a whole community of people get together and work for something outside of themselves. You meet some very interesting people who have some very interesting stories. It’s not always what you might think that puts them in this situation. It reminds me many of us are a few situations away from being homeless.
Get togethers for strays – part of the problem with spending your holidays with other people’s families is the ratio is not working in your favor. You are one, they are many. With stray dinners, you have a random group of people who have no family, bad family or didn’t have the money to go home. In any case, they’re happy to have some place to go. One of my favorite dinners was on Thanksgiving a few years back. Two roommates set up two long party tables in the courtyard of their apartment complex, complete with homemade party hats. Everybody brought something. There were about 30 people. Afterwards we piled in their living room and watched a movie. We all had our different reasons for being there, but for that day we were all family.
Another time a friend and I got together and made (Well, she made…I picked up) a Christmas dinner. We invited people we knew wouldn’t be able to make it home or those who didn’t want to go home. My friend decided to make a sweet potato pie, but we couldn’t understand why the sweep potatoes were white because all the sweet potato pies we had in the past had always been orange. “Maybe it turns orange when you bake it” we thought. It did not. How were we to know that yams are used in sweet potato pie? But I guess sweet potato pie sounds better than yam pie.
Alone – Sometimes, I make a little something. Sometimes I drive around and see what’s open. This year I went to a matinee and picked up something to eat at this Argentinean restaurant called LALA’s. It was delicious.
I don’t want anymore holidays that feel like power lunches. It’s like the theme song to that old show called Cheers:
Sometimes you want to go
Where everybody knows your name,
and they're always glad you came.
You wanna be where you can see,
our troubles are all the same
You wanna be where everybody knows
Your name.
Though it may look different for some of us, aren’t the holidays about being somewhere you belong.
Until next year…
Wow, I'm exhausted! After reading all that, now I understand. : )
ReplyDelete