La Famiglia a Natale

Where do you draw the line with family? When is too close too close? When is too much too much? Can there be boundaries of giving or even forgiveness? Of understanding? After all, family is family—even if you’re not Italian.

People go to great lengths to conceal family truths. Perception is reality, a notion that is confirmed every day in the news business. By the time the real story comes out, people have either come to their own conclusions about a situation or moved on to something else. So we spend much effort keeping family business within the family. It is the only way, really. Everyone is entitled to privacy, even a certain golfer who apparently used his driver a little too much. (Fore!)

For the majority of my life I had a close-knit family.

Both sides were very different and equally fulfilling. Christmas Eve was spent with my mother’s side around our table and Christmas Day would be with my father’s side, usually a few weird hours at my grandparent’s house. I’m sure there were some tough visits, but I don’t recall them. Well, that’s not true. The last Christmas Eve we were together at my parent’s house was a real disaster. Details don’t matter, but all I can say is one word:

Goldschläger.

And then, we all started to drift away for Christmas Eve. We have always agreed that it was because of everyone growing up and finding their own lives and partners. That really is true. But there were also a few elephants dancing around the room. They may have been dressed festively, with elfin caps and bells on their ankles, but an elephant is hard to ignore. So quietly, without acknowledging their presence, we gave them room to rampage. Christmas Eve with my mother’s family as we knew it as children was, and forever will be, different. Despite those changes, we have all remained close, even during the most tense of times.

Several years ago the elephants found a new pasture and decided to stampede across my father’s side of the family. Once again, they had been probably there watching and waiting for years. All it takes it one big guy to start running and the rest follow. The result is I have not seen some of my cousins in more than four years, including holidays. See, some families will avoid each other all year but suck it up for a painful, phony Christmas. We leapfrogged that and went right to avoidance. Maybe it was better that way, like ripping the bandage from the skin. But the wounds are still there.

What the hell is my point? I don’t know. Christmas is different now. I have a child, a niece and a nephew. They are 6, 5 and 16 months old. My cousins have young kids. There is a new spirit in the air. For a couple of years I attached my Christmas spirit to my little girl. Christmas is for kids, right? Maybe not so much. Maybe I want my Christmas back.

No, not the Christmas Eve of the past, or even Santa. That’s not what I mean.

The years have flown by so quickly. Everything is different now. I look at pictures of my parents, aunts, uncles and other family members who have left us, and marvel at how different we all are. On some of those old prints, you can turn it over and see the year. Then I use my limited math skills and quickly equate the fact that I am older than my dad was in this picture, and my mom was not even 30 years old in that one.

It’s not the passage of time that upsets me, or even the speed. It is the manner in which we fritter away weeks and months, dealing with mundanity and repetition, keeping ourselves busy so we don’t notice the big elephant in the room that is doing the real damage.

So this Christmas, I’m gonna shoot the elephant.

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