Locked and Loaded Christmas

Last night we had my mom’s side of the family over for our Christmas party.  This is a randy group of humans.  Every year we brace ourselves for what might happen.

Two years ago, there was an argument about what color Jesus was.  These people are all Class-A know-it-alls.  They know where to get the “best” Chinese food, the best place to take your car for an oil change, and God forbid if you do it any other way, or like something different, then you are a real dope.  Forget Angie’s list.  Just ask a Lemanski.

It’s always interesting to see which one of these weirdos is going to be “the one” who causes trouble. 

This year the prize goes my Aunt Sandy.  She is a 5ft tall timebomb.  And my mother is always her chosen victim.  It started in the kitchen.  Sandy said to my mom, “Our mother was a terrible cook.” 

Thems fightin’ words.

She was an absolutely wonderful cook, she made homemade noodles for glorious chicken soup, her gravy was worthy of a Michelin star.  She baked gorgeous and delicious cakes and pies that everyone raved about. This particular comment was a choice because it was categorically untrue.  What she was really saying was, our mother was terrible.

Now that’s the way to spice up a holiday party.

She went on and on and my mother and I just stood there with our mouths hanging open.  Why, in a family where any little comment can blow up an entire evening, was it necessary to insult their mother who has been gone for 22 years?  

Later, Sandy rudely insulted my mothers Christmas tree.  “I don’t even consider that a Christmas tree,” she said.

It’s always something with her specifically, and quite often with a few more of these relatives.

You should know that Sandy cut us all off for ten years and spoke to no one.  We had ten lovely Christmases.   Zero drama.  Zero hurt feelings.

My mother was the last to leave last night, and she was exhausted.  There was more tension created by other relatives throughout the evening.  The mean comments take a toll on her 80-year-old soul.

This morning it is clear to me that these four Lemanski children (who range in age from 59-80) show up to this once a year get together locked and loaded.  Some are locked with fear of what the others will say, the rest are loaded with razor sharp digs at the ready when they walk in the door.

Last night Aunt Sandy was mean.  But what it comes down to is that she is now and has always been an angry person.  When the family gets together it brings out her anger at her childhood.  Her anger at her parents.  All four siblings revert back to being the children who fought, blamed, and grew up with a lot of pain. 

My mom has gone through years of therapy and has dealt with a lot of her pain from growing up.  The other three siblings seem to save up their pain all year and let it out at Christmas. 

They drop bombs, laugh it off, and walk away with gifts under their arms and a smoking, burned up city of innocent relatives left behind.

I know our family is not unique. 

Cheers to those of us who try to diffuse what we can, and clean up the mess after it’s all over.