I Guess It Really Didn't Feel Like Christmas In Our House

"But ... but ... (sob) ... but I only wanted you to have the best Christmas (sob) ever!" my mother said on the phone this year.  Or shall I say, my mother sobbed on the phone this year. 

"I did everything I could for you to have the perfect Christmas, everything!  And this is how you repay me?  You're depriving my granddaughter."

We didn't have a Christmas tree. 

My mother loves Christmas.  She loves Christmas so much that if you were to walk into her home anytime between the Friday after Thanksgiving and New Year's Day, you would be tripping over any and all variety of Santa Clause and his cronies made since 1963, the year my parents got married.  This year alone, she had five Christmas trees.  She only has three bedrooms, and two baths, but had to have five threes.  Living in a cramped New York apartment, I don't even want to think were all her trees are stashed off season.  If I had that much free space, I'd rent it out at over a $1,000 a sq. ft. vs. stuffing it with dusty has-been Santas. 

But for my mother, nothing could be more rewarding than Christmas.  Her decorating does not start before Thanksgiving, nor can a Christmas bobble be up past New Year's Day.  You see, we were not White Trash.  According to my mother, White Trash would have their decorations up into summer if they could, and a lot of times did.  You know the type, you drive by in August and see the dirty lights still up.  You don't know the type?  I'll introduce you to some of my relatives.  No holiday should have the decorations of another holiday exhibited, e.g. a Christmas light peeking it bright head out of a box on Thanksgiving. 

Because of the militaristic way that my mother insisted that we have the perfect Christmas, the hell would begin early on Black Friday.  I always thought it was called that because people had to decorate all day.  I didn't even realize that people would go shopping on that day and have fun.  When did they put up their decorations, Thanksgiving or before ... like White Trash?  Or after Black Friday, and not enjoy the full extend of all that was meant of the holiday, oh sorry, Christmas season? 

The joy of Christmas got lost on me.  My mother may have had the perfect Christmas, but since I was never allowed to decorate with any of my homemade school ornaments ... we wouldn't want people to think we were poor and couldn't afford a store bought one ... I just felt as cold as the December Chicago air.  THEN when I realized that my parents had been lying to me about Santa, well, that just put me in therapy for years with trust issues.  My brother always caused some type of fight to try to get out of the work.  When he was younger, it would be something like, "Tammy, hit me!", when I was standing on the other side of the room.  When he was older, it was more like, "Mom, I gotta talk.  I .. I want you to know ... I'm a drug addict."  He wasn't an addict, unless it was to getting out of work.  The yelling, screaming, and tears that went along with decorating, still ring in my ears and twist my gut.  I swore that when I became an adult, I would not waste my time decorating for Christmas, or any other holiday.

Then this year came alone. 

KZ was really getting into the holiday spirit at school.  She was learning about Kwanzaa, Hanukkah, and Christmas.  She made ornaments and pictures for all three.  She sang songs for all the holiday celebrations and even some in Spanish!  Her favorite song that she belted on on Christmas Eve in the middle of Fairway, our local grocery store, was for Kwanzaa.  I'm not sure if Grandma Hoover would have approved, but KZ was having a blast, which is all that matters.  KZ showed interest in Christmas trees, but Jeremy was totally against it. 

"What?  Next you'll be asking for a baby Jesus!"  he said.

Ugh ...

So, instead I took KZ to Rock Center to see the tree.  She adored it.  She wanted another.  So we walked up 6th Avenue stopping in lobby after lobby looking at Christmas trees until she said, "Mommy, let's go get some spaghetti."

On the actual eve and day of Christmas, we really didn't do much, except cook.  And cook.  And cook.  We made a major English Christmas Dinner, complete with Yorkshire pudding (bread), but minus the Christmas pudding (dessert).  He even made a wonderful lobster bisque.   A fairly traditional Christmas dinner, made by a fairly traditional Jewish man.  I was happy.  KZ even ate all the Jack Daniels soaked cranberries.

There was no fighting, no drunkenness, no real boredom, and no family issues to speak of at all.  Things were quiet, calm, and peaceful ... with a mountain of dishes, not a mountain of decorations, to put away afterwards.

I talked to a friend of mine several days later. 

"How was your Christmas?" I said.

"Ok, you know.  My family is really intense.  My parents asked prying questions.  My brother had issues.  There was too much eating and way too much drinking.  How was yours?"

"Nice, really nice.  It was a nice weekend, but I didn't have to deal with all of that.  I guess it really didn't feel like Christmas in our house."

"Yes, what's Christmas without the family drama," she said.

We both started laughing.