It's such a crap holiday for me. At least it's time off of work. If I had work. But then, that's part of the issue, no?
Historically it was the worst of all holidays. It wasn't redeemed by the happy feelings of receiving presents. So this would happen- without fail.
Spend the day getting all of that food together. Under the pressure umbrella of mom wanting perfection in all things- food, emotional, and otherwise. Put up with younger sister and her bitchiness in its varied forms. Put up with cranky grandparents. Watch evil Grandpa drink. Know with the security of the inevitable what is coming.
Serve dinner very early in the day. (I never really figured that one out. Thanksgiving dinner is more akin to Thanksgiving late lunch.). Then sit back and watch the inedible mass congeal when Grandpa finally lets loose- he's been percolating all fucking day. The shitstorm issuing from his mouth is usually pretty impressive. Especially since I was the target 98% of the time after the divorce, and Dad absented himself from the picture. Make that 100%. I never saw him verbally attack anyone else. Only me. Inevitably I would lose my temper and tell him to go fuck himself. Then leave. And my mother would sigh, with the forebearance of the angels above, and clear the table. Grandpa would go back to simmering, no doubt waiting in anticipation for next year.
Once I hit college I played my only card for sanity. I refused to go home for Thanksgiving. Ever again. I only revoked this standing rule once- several years ago. Grandpa had just died, and I did it as a favor to my mom. I took Kenga along for the ride. And it was a ride, indeed. Grandma was just starting to lose her grip on reality. So it was kinda amusing to see her deal with the half non-white person I married so long ago. The official story is that she really likes him, and thinks he's great. The real story is that they have never forgiven or forgotten his Japaneseness. She usually has to tell me why they still hate the Japanese. The war, doncha know? And she does speak in the "we" tense- not Imperial "we", but Grandpa's still around "we". Creepy.
The good news- I won't be going home for the festivities. I'll be safe and sound with friends. I'll see the family at Christmas. They'll be settled into the holiday mood more securely, and it'll be fine. Any fireworks will be supplied by aforementioned bitchy sister, and easily contained. Mostly cuz ding dong the witch is dead, and he won't be coming back for any more rounds. So that's what I'm thankful for, I guess. Peace on earth, and no more ugliness in the name of family harmony. No more sick tummies afterwards, and reproachful looks from Grandma and Mom. And that's that.
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4 comments:
Oh, the joys of Thanksgiving. They were inifinitely more so every other year when it was my step-mother's turn to cook. The unwritten rule was stay the fuck away from the house from about Tuesday onwards. She hated cooking in general, throw a 20-pound chunk of dead fowl into the picture and things got scary indeed. Things were even worse those years when the bird refused to thaw in the garage. Looking back and doing the math, these step-mother hosted Thanksgivings could have only impacted on my life a maximum of five times, but the scars have lasted a lifetime.
Back in the States for the first time in a decade this year, I feared an invitation to head up to VT for the festivities. Sorry to anyone who called and had the phone answered in Turkish (seemed an appropriate language in which to avoid Turkey Day). Alas, I made it through the season without an invite and will be spending the day with friends opting for the vegetarian menu (a big bottle of Carlo Rosi Paisano and a bag of mediocre marijuana) instead of the fowl. Others here will be eating a foul mythical beast known a turducken. Whatever the case, there will be no fights, guests will be here of their own free will, no one will be impressed that the Bush's are eating free-range turkey, no Turks will be present to bitch about the naming of the bird, and perhaps we'll even be able to see live coverage of somebady being maimed by a balloon at the Macy's parade. See, there are things to be thankful for. Sukran bayrami, kutlu olsun!
It's just good as an adult to be able to take a pass on events that as a kid you were dragged along to- unwillingly in my case. Though I must admit that my mom and dad still play a mean hand of guilt.
Any birds named after the sick man of Europe are A OK in my book. I'll just put my feet up on this OTTOMAN, slip on my lovely red FEZ and eat some TURKEY. And read a book about the Crimean war for emphasis. (not really- life is too short for the last one, and I don't own a fez. the neighbors have one though)
brilliant fucking entry! bravo. take your bow.
Thank you LX- that means quite a lot coming from you!
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