*Note: I realize there are some crazy tense issues here. I wanted to scream when I found out that my mom's side of the family would be coming to our house for Christmas. A) I don't like people in my house, B) I don't like rednecks, and the family coming to spend the day Christmas Eve would entail my house being full of rednecks. Not that I don't love my aunts, and uncles, and cousins, but you'd be surprised at the culture shock that occurs just from one end of a state to the other. As soon as they get here, the local news will be on to sedate my grandfather. My grandma will be on the phone talking about the latest sick and/or dying and/or dead person in her community, and my uncles boisterous antics will crowd the room.
But, when they got here, I put on my big smile and let them hug and squeeze and crush me, and reminded them what grade I was in, and let them comment on how heavy my book bag always looked. Then, as the news droned in the background, the current segment on the latest local homicide would start up an in-home news brief of ten other horror stories, usually somewhere in the ballpark of murder, rape, and child endangerment. I would smile and nod and glance at my sister as she gives 'tudy looks to her least favorite relatives.
Dinner was the best part. The food was great, and it was just my sister, my beloved cousin, and I at the kitchen table while the adults sat in the dining room. Then came present-opening. There's no time I'm more in touch with my Jewish roots than when it comes to being stingy with money. Therefore, I take full advantage of the holiday season as my oppurtunity to stock up on all my heart's desires that I've so patiently waited upwards of six months for. Needless to say, I had a very simple, yet specific list, which I instructed my parents to share with the rest of the family. Unfortunately, gift-giving is not my family's strong suit.
I doubt my aunt and uncle even bothered to ask what I wanted. They got me a sack of candy and a nice necklace from Wal-Mart. The real kicker was what my grandparents got me. One of the things on my list was a bathrobe. I didn't specify on type or description, because I'd have been fine with anything cute, fuzzy, and brightly colored, as most bathrobes are.
My grandparents hand me a big, slightly dented giftbag that I know had been reduced, reused, and recycled one too many times. I pulled out the tissue paper, stuck my head into the bag...and immediately assumed a botox smile as I pulled out a mint green, embroidered, zip-up housecoat. I could have sworn it came from my grandmother's own closet if I hadn't seen her perusing the housecoats once when we went to the store together, asking me all kinds of questions about which fabrics I liked the best and which style I found most suitable. I'd had a foreboding feeling at the time, and had prayed she was shopping for a friend. But nope--the very same housecoat we'd looked at together, and that I told her I liked (for her 65-year-old friend) because the fabric was "soft" (as in the kind of soft that a cheap stuffed animal is) stared back at me from inside the beat up gift bag. Before the break, a teacher asked the class if they had any good stories about the worst Christmas gift they'd ever gotten. Now I have one.
As a part of my nature, I avoid any sort of stressful or frustrating situations. To me, my relatives from Halifax are a stressful and frustrating situation, and even during the holidays I still cringe when they touch me. It's something I really need to work on, because I know "they're not going to be around forever," a hashed old frase that's taken on a new meaning since attending my great-grandmother's funeral (see my blog titled, "Grandma Reese"). Hopefully, with enough prayer, the Christmas spirit will catch up with me, and I'll be able to be a blessing to my family despite my feelings.
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