December 28, 2007
A Christmas Memory
Christmas with my side of the family can be a bit overwhelming. Every year, my mom and her two youngest sisters take turns hosting the celebration. This tradition began in 1981, as a way for my grandmother, Alice, to spend time with all seven of her children, their spouses and her grandchildren.
It’s hard to believe that we’ve been gathering every Christmas for the last twenty-six years. That first celebration was the smallest, because not all of my aunts and uncles were married, but as our families expanded, year after year, it became a challenge to cram almost forty people in one location.
My mother is the oldest, followed by her sisters, Judy, Donna and Mary, and her brothers, Michael, Carl and Paul. Out of seven kids, only two are unmarried. In order to understand the insanity in my family, I’ll give you a little back-story.
My mom and her sister Judy are very close, and my aunts, Donna and Mary are inseparable. Besides being sisters, they are best friends and very often exclude my mom and Aunt Judy from conversations and events. I could even say that there’s a small rivalry between families.
Both aunts were stay-at-home parents, married to husbands with high-paying mill jobs. Both Donna and Mary each have five children that are very close in age to the other’s kids, and the two families have been known to spend a lot of time together.
It should be said that I’m the firstborn grandchild, followed by my cousin, Hedy, who is two years younger than me. Hedy and I were “best friends” until our high school years when we drifted apart. We really didn’t have much in common as the years went by.
Hedy and her sisters have gone to prestigious universities, they work for prominent companies, and they travel across the country, as well as internationally, and they usually date very good-looking boyfriends. It can be rather intimidating to listen to them speak of their latest accomplishment or amazing trip to Amsterdam (or was it Paris?).
I’ve never felt the need to compete with my cousins, but my aunts seem to measure a person’s “worth” by their social status, how much money they make, or the clothes they wear. They’ll never admit it, but sometimes I feel as though I’m being compared to their very gorgeous, thin, single, childless daughters.
This Christmas was held at my parents’ house. When my cousins arrived I felt the dread of having to make conversation with these very accomplished girls. I know it sounds like I’m jealous, but that isn’t the case. I’m very proud of my cousins’ successes – they’ve worked very hard to get where they are – but I find it difficult to listen to them brag about how “wonderful” they are and the “amazing” lives they lead. Are they trying to impress me? Are they insecure about one part of their lives so they embellish the details of another part? Who knows?
I tried to be polite and courteous, and I did my best to keep a smile on my face and be interested in their lives, but part of me thought, “Who cares?” Not one of my cousins asked me about my life, or about Dawson or about my job. It wasn’t until my sister brought up my blogging that they took an interest.
If I had a dollar for every time I was asked what a blog was, or what BlogHer was all about, I could afford my own trip to Amsterdam (or perhaps Paris?). My very liberal cousins were shocked to discover that I write about conservative politics. And my awesome sister did some bragging on my behalf.
“She writes for BlogHer.com,” Rachel said. “And, she’s really good at it. And she’s going to New York and San Francisco, too, for the blogging conferences.”
I laughed inside, because of the raised eyebrows and strange looks I was getting. Thankfully, my brother, Frankie, put on the videotape from Christmas 1989 (saved by the TV!), to break up the tension in the room. My uncle, Mike, had brought his VHS recorder and documented our holiday celebration that year. Frank thought it would be fun to watch that old video.
I smiled when I saw Grandma Alice on the screen. It’s been two years since her death (she died December 6, 2005) and I miss her terribly. It was amazing that everyone gathered around the television to reminisce the early Christmas parties we had. How fast time goes by.
The best part of watching this old tape was that it took place in the house I live in now. We bought my childhood home from my parents five years ago when they built their dream house. My husband had never seen our home prior to the addition my dad built to the back of the house in 1991.
It was so foreign to look at that old floor plan. I had forgotten about that ugly brown linoleum in the old kitchen, which is currently underneath the current flooring. I laughed when I saw the old deck door (which is now an open entry-way to our current dining room). I remember that the lock was broken, so my mother put a dowelling rod behind it, “just in case burglars try to get it.” It never occurred to her that they would probably just break the glass.
And then, I heard Grandma’s voice coming through the speakers and I started crying. As I write this, the tears are rolling down my cheeks. Eighteen years ago, on December 25, Grandma Alice was sitting in my living room, watching her grandchildren open their Christmas presents.
My Christmas tree is in the same spot my mother place our tree in 1989. If I close my eyes, I can see it all again – no VHS required. I can smell the real tree my father cut from the local Christmas tree farm. I can see the mountains of presents underneath it, the flashing multi-colored string of lights, the handmade ornaments my siblings and I made.
My youngest brother, Frank wasn’t even born yet, so my sister was the baby of the family. I remember painting her finger and toenails and crimping her hair for the Christmas party.
I laughed when Grandma Alice said, “Honest to God, Mikey!” to my uncle as he videotaped her. She didn’t want to be on camera, but thank the Lord she was! I’m so grateful we could look back on that Christmas, eighteen years ago. I still can’t get over how fast time goes by…
I remember that Grandma made Polish sausage (kielbasa), and how the awful smell of sauerkraut wafted through the air when someone lifted the lid on the crock-pot.
I remember Aunt Judy getting a little tipsy from eggnog – or maybe she was just sugared up on Diet Pepsi (it wasn’t caffeine-free at that time) — and telling us she once ran naked through the woods on the farm.
I remember saying my prayers with Grandma — the “Our Father” and the “Hail Mary” — and how proud she was that I prayed with her. I remember the nativity, and how we celebrated the birth of our Lord and Saviour, Jesus Christ.
As we watched that videotape, I began to realize that it doesn’t matter what clothes we wear, or how much money we make, that proves whether we are a worthy person.
We must cherish the reason we gathered together in the first place. We gathered to celebrate the birth of Christ. We celebrated with our loved ones, our families. We gathered to cherish the many blessings we’ve been given. We gathered together to treat each other with kindness, respect and love. That’s what it’s all about. That is what really matters.
Posted by Dana 6:09 am • Acting Up, Childhood Memories, Holiday Hell, Polish Princess, Relative Chaos, Religion • 4 comments
