![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ninanevermoreToday on my drive into work, I was thinking that I would have enjoyed Thanksgiving Day a lot more if I had taken up a friend's offer to spend it with her family and told my own family I couldn't just make it. In fact, I've been kicking myself for that decision since about 15 minutes after I showed up at my father's house last Thursday.
"That's an awful thing to say," Jeff told me when I spoke to him on the phone that evening. Like most holidays that happen on a day that is not his scheduled day off at the airport, he had to work.
"If you had been there, you'd agree," I told him, "I was so bored my brain actually hurt. You've met my family. Don't pretend you don't know what I'm talking about."
The funny thing is, when my father told me that he and That Woman He is Married To would not be able to host Thanksgiving dinner, I got upset. My house, being in a constant state of renovation, isn't suitable for entertaining. My youngest brother, like Jeff, works a job that doesn't have holidays off. My middle brother is estranged from the family. My oldest brother isn't the entertaining type. My stepsister lives 6 hours away. My stepbrother's girlfriend doesn't like That Woman very much and so they avoid gatherings. All alternative family avenues for the holiday were closed.
I figured I would buy turkey microwavable dinners (Lean Cuisine, perhaps) for my son and I, and call it good. Until the girl I work with invited me to spend the holiday with her family.
"You'll have fun," she promised. "We always have a blast."
He words would haunt me through every mind achingly dull moment of Thanksgiving Day. My father and That Woman decided to host the feast after all. Only my oldest brother and I did not find an excuse not to show. He and his 10-year-old daughter and me with my 2-year-old son were the only ones out of 6 children and 10 grandchildren to make it.
The boredom started almost immediately. No one in the group is big on social interaction, with the possible exception of That Woman, and only then with her own friends and family (not mine). The TV was never turned off the entire time. In fact, two TVs were on. That Woman can't function without a television droning in the background, and there is one in almost every room of the house. The hosts of the televised dog show spoke in hushed tones that never varied ("Next is the working group - always a crowd favorite. Stay tuned after this word from our sponsors.") At last, it was time to eat. Since the TV was on and that makes it hard to concentrate on a long, off the cuff heartfelt Thanksgiving prayer, my father opted for a short children's blessing, and we all sat down.
No one spoke during the meal. No one except me, that is. Oddly enough, I'm not really a big conversationalist. I like listening to conversations and contributing, but mostly I enjoy hearing what other people have to say. The fact that no one said anything started to drive me nuts. At one point, while That Woman was distracted by a phone call, I got up and turned off one TV and turned the one in the kitchen down to a drone to see if that would help. It didn't. My father and brother continued to stare down at their plates and eat without speaking. My niece is a polite child who follows the leads of the adults, but the adults weren't leading anyone anywhere.
Since no one else volunteered, I did my best to take the reins. I asked about each sibling and stepsibling who didn't make it. I asked about their families, where they were working, what they were up to, how their kids were, and so on. My father and That Woman answered me, and then let each topic die an abrupt death. No one picked up the thread to continue the conversation further. No one told any jokes. No one teased anyone. I've dined with groups of strangers who connected more.
After dinner, everyone retired to the living room to watch Fox News and continue not talking to each other. I stepped outside with the two children, who were the only ones having a good time. They chased each other and played in the autumn leaves scattered across my father and That Woman's backyard. When the kids tired and went inside, I had to follow, since sitting out back by myself might be seen as unfriendly.
Back inside, Fox News droned on. They were interviewing soldiers in Iraq who were eating Thanksgiving dinner. The solders seemed to be having a much better time than anyone in my immediate vicinity, despite the mortars exploding in the background.
At one point, I left to find an open store, because I forgot to bring diapers for my son. The old woman at the checkout counter smiled and wished me a happy Thanksgiving.
"You have one, too," I told her, smiling back. "It's a shame you have to work today."
"Oh, it's not so bad," she said, "At least I get to go home in a couple of hours, and then I get to enjoy it."
"Good for you," I told her.
It was the best conversation I had with an adult the entire day, and the longest.
When I got back to my father's house, the TV was still on. Still, no one talked. Finally enough time passed that I felt I could leave without looking rude. As I drove home it occurred to me that the more interesting people in my family were the ones who couldn't (or refused to) make the trip. I resolved to join their ranks of absenteeism the next year. No, sooner than that. I will join their ranks this Christmas.
I won't be home for Christmas. I won't see my family, not a single one of them, and boy am I excited. I don't feel guilty; I doubt they'll even notice I'm gone, unless the power goes out and the TVs all fall dark and silent.
This decision lifts a huge burden off of my shoulders. For the first time since I can remember, I don't feel depressed about the idea Christmas.
"That's an awful thing to say, too," Jeff will tell me. He gets sentimental about things like family and Christmas, what with him being the chick in our relationship and all.
"Put a sock in it," I'll tell him, "You know you like the idea as much as I do. Don't deny it. And stop using words like 'subdued' and 'quiet' when you talk about my family. You know damned well what they are - boring."
He won't be able to argue. He might be loath to admit it, but I bet he'll be as relieved as I am.
* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ # ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *
"That's an awful thing to say," Jeff told me when I spoke to him on the phone that evening. Like most holidays that happen on a day that is not his scheduled day off at the airport, he had to work.
"If you had been there, you'd agree," I told him, "I was so bored my brain actually hurt. You've met my family. Don't pretend you don't know what I'm talking about."
The funny thing is, when my father told me that he and That Woman He is Married To would not be able to host Thanksgiving dinner, I got upset. My house, being in a constant state of renovation, isn't suitable for entertaining. My youngest brother, like Jeff, works a job that doesn't have holidays off. My middle brother is estranged from the family. My oldest brother isn't the entertaining type. My stepsister lives 6 hours away. My stepbrother's girlfriend doesn't like That Woman very much and so they avoid gatherings. All alternative family avenues for the holiday were closed.
I figured I would buy turkey microwavable dinners (Lean Cuisine, perhaps) for my son and I, and call it good. Until the girl I work with invited me to spend the holiday with her family.
"You'll have fun," she promised. "We always have a blast."
He words would haunt me through every mind achingly dull moment of Thanksgiving Day. My father and That Woman decided to host the feast after all. Only my oldest brother and I did not find an excuse not to show. He and his 10-year-old daughter and me with my 2-year-old son were the only ones out of 6 children and 10 grandchildren to make it.
The boredom started almost immediately. No one in the group is big on social interaction, with the possible exception of That Woman, and only then with her own friends and family (not mine). The TV was never turned off the entire time. In fact, two TVs were on. That Woman can't function without a television droning in the background, and there is one in almost every room of the house. The hosts of the televised dog show spoke in hushed tones that never varied ("Next is the working group - always a crowd favorite. Stay tuned after this word from our sponsors.") At last, it was time to eat. Since the TV was on and that makes it hard to concentrate on a long, off the cuff heartfelt Thanksgiving prayer, my father opted for a short children's blessing, and we all sat down.
No one spoke during the meal. No one except me, that is. Oddly enough, I'm not really a big conversationalist. I like listening to conversations and contributing, but mostly I enjoy hearing what other people have to say. The fact that no one said anything started to drive me nuts. At one point, while That Woman was distracted by a phone call, I got up and turned off one TV and turned the one in the kitchen down to a drone to see if that would help. It didn't. My father and brother continued to stare down at their plates and eat without speaking. My niece is a polite child who follows the leads of the adults, but the adults weren't leading anyone anywhere.
Since no one else volunteered, I did my best to take the reins. I asked about each sibling and stepsibling who didn't make it. I asked about their families, where they were working, what they were up to, how their kids were, and so on. My father and That Woman answered me, and then let each topic die an abrupt death. No one picked up the thread to continue the conversation further. No one told any jokes. No one teased anyone. I've dined with groups of strangers who connected more.
After dinner, everyone retired to the living room to watch Fox News and continue not talking to each other. I stepped outside with the two children, who were the only ones having a good time. They chased each other and played in the autumn leaves scattered across my father and That Woman's backyard. When the kids tired and went inside, I had to follow, since sitting out back by myself might be seen as unfriendly.
Back inside, Fox News droned on. They were interviewing soldiers in Iraq who were eating Thanksgiving dinner. The solders seemed to be having a much better time than anyone in my immediate vicinity, despite the mortars exploding in the background.
At one point, I left to find an open store, because I forgot to bring diapers for my son. The old woman at the checkout counter smiled and wished me a happy Thanksgiving.
"You have one, too," I told her, smiling back. "It's a shame you have to work today."
"Oh, it's not so bad," she said, "At least I get to go home in a couple of hours, and then I get to enjoy it."
"Good for you," I told her.
It was the best conversation I had with an adult the entire day, and the longest.
When I got back to my father's house, the TV was still on. Still, no one talked. Finally enough time passed that I felt I could leave without looking rude. As I drove home it occurred to me that the more interesting people in my family were the ones who couldn't (or refused to) make the trip. I resolved to join their ranks of absenteeism the next year. No, sooner than that. I will join their ranks this Christmas.
I won't be home for Christmas. I won't see my family, not a single one of them, and boy am I excited. I don't feel guilty; I doubt they'll even notice I'm gone, unless the power goes out and the TVs all fall dark and silent.
This decision lifts a huge burden off of my shoulders. For the first time since I can remember, I don't feel depressed about the idea Christmas.
"That's an awful thing to say, too," Jeff will tell me. He gets sentimental about things like family and Christmas, what with him being the chick in our relationship and all.
"Put a sock in it," I'll tell him, "You know you like the idea as much as I do. Don't deny it. And stop using words like 'subdued' and 'quiet' when you talk about my family. You know damned well what they are - boring."
He won't be able to argue. He might be loath to admit it, but I bet he'll be as relieved as I am.
