Going Crackers at Christmas
I'm glad my family doesn't take photos - I'd really rather forget some Christmases. This time I made the mistake of getting my hopes up. My family, God bless em had asked what I wanted for Christmas and I decided to seize the opportunity to make very specific requests. I knew if I didn't I was in real danger of getting something really useless like the Christmas my mother gave me a weaving loom. Revenge was twelve months in the making but it was very sweet. I got her tea towels. So I told them I wanted perfume, hubcaps for my car and books about the 17th century - in particular "The Weaker Vessel" by Antonia Fraser.
I have to admit my mother did try to get me the books about the 17th century. Only she tried to look for them in second-hand shops. And when she couldn't find any she decided to get me novels printed in the 1970's as a substitute. As a result I've now got four books I don't want to read including a very dubious selection set in the American Civil War.
My brother bought me two dvd's which I was after and I was delighted at his thoughtfulness until he promptly demanded to watch them himself. My sister asked to see them too - she had bought me a tea thermos while I had bought her a complete bedding set.
The climax though was our father's gift for us. For most of our lives our father would not normally buy Christmas gifts for us. He is not stingy. He can be unexpectedly generous - time and time again he had proved this - with our little brother. For the past few Christmases he had begun redeeming himself by splashing out and getting us a block of chocolate for Christmas. This year they were wrapped which was a bonus but he had omitted to place name tags on them. Taking one and tearing off the wrapping paper we soon realised that two of us were holding a block of plain chocolate while our sister was holding a prized block of high-quality dark chocolate. "Cool! I got the good one!" she shouted in glee. "Oh, give it to Ben then." said Dad immediately. I was about to argue that as the firstborn that I should have rightful claim but why should I ruin the Christmas spirit when everyone else was doing such a stellar job?
The day got better when we packed up the car and headed off for my half-sister's house at Nerang. My mother refused to come because she feels uncomfortable hanging out with my father's ex-wife. She also refused because she does not get into the same vehicle as my father. Ever. They have not shared a journey together for almost ten years now. Its probably best that they do travel seperately because if they had an accident they would have to find two ambulances to take them to hospital.
"You're driving too slow!" "You didn't indicate!" "Why are you going the long way?" "What are you doing here? Don't go to this petrol station - go to the one up the road, go on, back it up, back it up!" "Why are you backing out again? The pump is free now!" "You should have gone the back way." This is just a sample of what was said to me in the first ten kilometres. The state road toll would have taken a sudden spike if I didn't repeat the mantra, Its just one day of the year, its just one day of the year. until we arrived.
When we arrived at my sister's house I presented her with a bottle of shiraz while my father presented his son-in-law with a chinese container filled with cooked rice. It was so gluggy it came out of the container in a single, gelatinous blob. I insisted we open the wine immediately. We all dutifully took a spoonful of rice with our turkey and sat down to eat. The vacant place at the table then made me realise that my mother had not informed my half-sister that she wasn't coming. If my family lived by any sort of social norms it would be a Christmas miracle indeed.
I have to admit my mother did try to get me the books about the 17th century. Only she tried to look for them in second-hand shops. And when she couldn't find any she decided to get me novels printed in the 1970's as a substitute. As a result I've now got four books I don't want to read including a very dubious selection set in the American Civil War.
My brother bought me two dvd's which I was after and I was delighted at his thoughtfulness until he promptly demanded to watch them himself. My sister asked to see them too - she had bought me a tea thermos while I had bought her a complete bedding set.
The climax though was our father's gift for us. For most of our lives our father would not normally buy Christmas gifts for us. He is not stingy. He can be unexpectedly generous - time and time again he had proved this - with our little brother. For the past few Christmases he had begun redeeming himself by splashing out and getting us a block of chocolate for Christmas. This year they were wrapped which was a bonus but he had omitted to place name tags on them. Taking one and tearing off the wrapping paper we soon realised that two of us were holding a block of plain chocolate while our sister was holding a prized block of high-quality dark chocolate. "Cool! I got the good one!" she shouted in glee. "Oh, give it to Ben then." said Dad immediately. I was about to argue that as the firstborn that I should have rightful claim but why should I ruin the Christmas spirit when everyone else was doing such a stellar job?
The day got better when we packed up the car and headed off for my half-sister's house at Nerang. My mother refused to come because she feels uncomfortable hanging out with my father's ex-wife. She also refused because she does not get into the same vehicle as my father. Ever. They have not shared a journey together for almost ten years now. Its probably best that they do travel seperately because if they had an accident they would have to find two ambulances to take them to hospital.
"You're driving too slow!" "You didn't indicate!" "Why are you going the long way?" "What are you doing here? Don't go to this petrol station - go to the one up the road, go on, back it up, back it up!" "Why are you backing out again? The pump is free now!" "You should have gone the back way." This is just a sample of what was said to me in the first ten kilometres. The state road toll would have taken a sudden spike if I didn't repeat the mantra, Its just one day of the year, its just one day of the year. until we arrived.
When we arrived at my sister's house I presented her with a bottle of shiraz while my father presented his son-in-law with a chinese container filled with cooked rice. It was so gluggy it came out of the container in a single, gelatinous blob. I insisted we open the wine immediately. We all dutifully took a spoonful of rice with our turkey and sat down to eat. The vacant place at the table then made me realise that my mother had not informed my half-sister that she wasn't coming. If my family lived by any sort of social norms it would be a Christmas miracle indeed.
