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The Christmas That Sent My Cousin to the ER
Play stupid games, win stupid prizes, holiday edition
Christmas Eve, 1998
My family of origin is vast. I spent most of my youth with my mother’s family. She was one of five kids, all of whom went on to have children of their own (one way or another).
Holidays required elaborate planning and execution. The labor belonged solely to the women; they began coordinating and assigning tasks weeks, sometimes even months, in advance. Who was cooking which dishes in whose oven. When people would arrive. How to keep all the dishes hot or cold.
With Christmas the work was doubled (at least). Gifts for everyone. My grandma would have all the grandkids over at the beginning of December to write letters to Santa. Santa, as it turned out, was actually an amalgamation of all the adults in my family.
This Christmas, we were celebrating at my Grandparents’ 3-bedroom ranch-style home. Every room was filled to the brim with people. An aggression of men in the living room shouting at distant football players or talking politics. An army of women in the kitchen, stressed and venting. Children ran in packs, zipping from one room to another, courting shouts from frazzled aunts and disgruntled uncles.
