Dear Neighbor,
It’s November, the kickoff to the holiday season. First up: Thanksgiving. And while the bulk of print ads and television commercials may have you thinking yours is the only unharmonious family on earth, I’m here to tell you that you’re not alone.
Thanksgiving assemblies come in two varieties: family gatherings and those with good friends. If it’s the latter, you’re good to go, surrounded by people who know, love and accept the real you. There’s plenty to eat and even more to talk about, all of it jolly. Thanksgiving with family can be that way, but it can also be dicey. I speak from experience.
Herewith, some dos and don’ts for an untraumatic family Thanksgiving.
Do attend only if you’ve recovered from last year.
Do offer to bring something you can manage. One year I offered to bring all the beverages — wine, pop, fizzy water, beer (I’m not a good cook, as my bio-family will happily tell you).
I’d have brought a case of Mad Dog 20/20 if I thought it could produce joy, harmony, good will. I was instructed instead to bring three homemade pies. “Um, I know a fabulous bakery, and I could. . .” “Make them,” was the response.
Sequel to the above: Don’t burden guests with the impossible. The possible can be so wonderful. I bought pies. They were delicious and enjoyed posthaste.
Don’t pick a fight. This is always good advice, but especially important on Thanksgiving when the ridiculously inconsequential can be the apple of discord.
Years ago, standing there, minding my own damn business like a good Minnesotan and drinking a Pepsi, I was approached by a notoriously pugilistic family member brandishing a can of Coke.
He demanded, “Why do you drink that crap?” I said, “Because I like it.” He trumpeted, “Only idiots and losers drink Pepsi.” I told him he should work in an ad agency and pitch that slogan.
Don’t bring up past and petty recriminations. One of my family members lugs around a Hefty bag overflowing with grievances — the anti-Santa — and regards grudges as coupons that have unlimited use with no expiration date.
But what can you buy with those things? Certainly not a fun Thanksgiving.
Do swear. Perhaps my favorite, and truly most loving and real, Thanksgiving memory was the year my mother, the ultimate Catholic who never swore — not even “hell,” except to remind us often that was where all non Catholics were headed — went to check on the turkey and CRASH!, followed by the F-bomb heard ‘round the world.
I ran to the kitchen where she stood ashen, the oven door lying on the floor, and I hugged her, loving her intensely for revealing her humanness. There were many others, to be sure, but this was one moment when I loved my mother completely, and it was reciprocated.
Don’t sneeze at the table. Now, this may seem obvious to you, but not to one family guest who showed up sounding like he belonged in a tuberculosis sanitarium. Hacking and wheezing, it all came to fruition as dinner began. I’ll spare you the exudate’s graphic details by saying simply that it was Mt. Etna, part deux.
Sequel to the above: Do stay home if you’re sick.
Do show up on time. One member of my extended family, renowned for lavishly disregarding others’ timelines, arrived several hours late. Repeated calls to her apartment (this was before cell phones) went unanswered. No one was even remotely worried (we’d seen this movie a thousand times). We were singing the praises of the pies with odes to whipped cream when she entered, gazed at us all in disbelief, and huffed aggrievedly, “You started without me?” That led to the famous “screamoff” when a thousand javelins of truths were hurled through the air and as many hurled back. Ah, family.
I admit it. I used to wig out at such functions, but several Thanksgivings ago, at approximately the 40-minute mark of a family member’s raving about his new socks — their beauty, their versatility, their functionality — something snapped in me, and it was good. It was an expansion of the old “If you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em.” I realized that if you can’t join ‘em, just sit back and enjoy the show.
Pass me some of that fancy Thanksgiving popcorn. And a Pepsi.
— Dorothy
