"Call your mother ferfucksake, it's Christmas."
So it bugs me every year, how more and more commercialized this time of year becomes. Before Halloween they are pushing Christmas and selling Santa and hawking Kringle. It gets on my nerves, because as I walk through the stores looking for little things that I can afford for all the family and friends I'm going to see or not see this solistice I get to hear the living outcome report of marketing departments everywhere.
The screaming and crying and temper tantrums happen all year around, don't get me wrong. When I was four and threw myself down on the grocery store floor screaming for a piece of candy my mother wouldn't give me, she would stand calmly by and wait for me to take a breath. At which point she would ask, "Are you done yet?" When I was six and thought I would be clever and sneak the candy into the cart, the cart would come to a screetching halt followed by my mother holding out a finger and going, "Pick it up and put it back or you won't be able to sit down for a week." (Oh yeah, we support ass whoopin's in my family.) Now that I'm older and walking through the grocery store on my own, I get to see such dramas played out before me like little glimpses into my past, only one problem. They don't ever seem to end the way they used to and it's particularly... interesting... at Christmas, to say the least.
Because my family is
massive and my species tends to clump together in the winter for warmth, we draw names to see who will be getting who a Christmas gift that year. That's right
a Christmas gift. All through my childhood I cannot
ever remember receiving more than a total of three (3) gifts under the tree (this count excludes the stocking). This year I drew one of my cousins who will be spending his Christmas somewhere in Iraq. Oh, excuse me, Kuwait...
. So, I head off to everyone's favourite cheapo department store (because I'm poor) trying think of things that would matter to a soldier far away from his family that would actually make it through the postage journey.
I knew his stocking was already going to have the standard clean socks and underwear and his mother's rendition of his favourite cookies, so those were all out of the question. Since he is a graphic novel fan I was pondering what I knew about his current collection when I walked up to the front of the store. I live in the largest town in my county and we still have a pop. that's less than 800 hundred, so everyone knows everyone, so passing by the bell-bearing Salvation Army recruit, BJ, I dropped whatever change I had in my pocket and over-heard a conversation I couldn't believe.
"I
can't get you that [toy] for Christmas, I simply can't afford it."
"So?"
'Wow', I thought to myself. 'My mom would have beat the crap out of me for that.' Then I think about it a little more. 'Wait. My mom would've never said that to begin with. It would've been something like... 'we'll see' or... 'ask Santa'.'
At this point, I was standing in front of that damn discount display they always have leering at you when you first step through the double glass doors and I had temporarily forgot what I was doing there. Staring at the mountain of discounted copies of
Chronicles of Narnia: Prince Caspian, I found myself wondering why that conversation had even happened. The boy had to have been at least twelve, unless the steriods in our chicken are doing better that I thought, surely he was busy buying gifts for his own friends with his allowance and learning how to spend it wisely. Still staring blankly and the shiny wrapped DVD cases, I conclude that surely that's what she meant, that she couldn't buy that toy for him so that he could give it to a friend, because I still have hope for humanity like that.
Realizing that I've been staring rather suspiciously at these discounted DVD's for a while, I nonchalantly begin to walk down the main aisle back towards electronics, because it's a habit to do that. I am side-tracked at the women's accessories by a pretty scarf and hat set and wonder if a friend of mine who still isn't crossed off my list needs a new scarf. Hell, personally, I can't have enough scarves. I'll even wear two at once just show them off. As I stand there pondering my friend's scarf-needfulness, that boy's response to his mother still pesters me.
"So?"
So? Really? Your mother explains to you nicely that she can't afford something and your come-back is, 'so?'. So, we're shopping at discount-mart, our credit sucks as evidenced by the recent cut in your allowance. So, no. So, don't ask me again. What kind of a response is 'so?' anyway?
My pondering is interrupted by yet another absurd Christmas conversation. One that chills me to the bone, because, while no children actually spoke, they were spoken of, by two women perusing purses one aisle over.
"I have to get Timmy that [toy]. Last year, he didn't get what he asked for and threw a tantrum."
"Really? Jane is like that too. It's so expensive, but she's so mean when she doesn't get what she wants."
Putting my hand on my mouth to physically remind myself not to butt into other people's conversations, because I actually have manners, I turn and continue towards the electronics. As I walk I think to myself, 'What the fuck? Since when did we bend to the ones who are too young to operate machinery legally so submissively? The little fucks can't even open the brand new peanut-butter jar on their own yet, but god forbid they through a tantrum.'
I end up stopping in front of the video game display, which probably wasn't a wise idea, the current state of my mind being considered, but that's where I stopped. I'm looking at new game titles, because while I don't own a console, I have family members who do and family members who want to know what to get those family members and they'll probably ask me, because for some reason, it's assumed that I know. That's when I hear the piercing cries of a dying child, right... next... to... me.
I look down and see that a young girl has plopped her little rear down on the floor and has begun to wail inconsolably while her parents proceed to argue right there about whether or not she should get the game she wants. Ok, I expected to hear one of them to give in because of the wailing, I accept that parents these days are soft, weak, mindless, slaves to their children. As I begin to walk away, giving in to my ears' pleas for mercy, I over-hear a saddening remark.
"Come on, it's Christmas. Give her want she wants."
God damn, is that where we're at? Is that the statement to define the season? It's Christmas, so they all get what they want. Huh, when I was her age it was, 'It's Christmas, I'm getting something.' Anything would have made me happy, wrapped up under the tree with my name on it, fuck what was inside, it was just cool to get something.
Remembering my original mission, I pass by one those photoframes that holds multiple photos and am struck by the smart-stick. What more does a soldier want for Christmas than home? Since I'm footing the bill for the shipping and handling, this will probably cost me around $30 so I'm happy. I pick up two disposable cameras and make my way over to the arts and crafts for an empty sketch pad.
The arts and crafts section is dead, the morgue has more people in it. I pick up a nice, thick sketch pad and head towards the front of the store to make my purchases. My cellphone rings while I'm standing in line. It's my mom.
"Can you pick up some red wine on your way home? It's Friday and we don't have any."
Shit. Friday. Aunt SG and Uncle TG are staying with us. They're Orthodox Jews.
"Yeah, do I need to get anything else?"
"Nope. Do you know if gator-tail is kosher?"
"Nope."
"Great. Love you."
*click*
So I hurry through the line and hurry through the grocery store in order to make it back for a Sabbath I don't celebrate. There are fifteen family members staying with us right now, Saturday that number will jump to twenty-two. I'm pretty sure we're breaking some fire codes. Of the families staying with us, one is Jewish, one is Catholic, and the other is... well... we're not sure. They kind of follow my mom's view of, wait until you've tried them all before you make a decision. People tell her, "There are too many for you to try them all." She responds, "That was the point." Regardless of religion, we're all sitting down at the same table tonight (figuratively speaking, of course, we don't own a table that big). Since the 'G's are the ones observing a holy day, we will all be observing it with them.
As everyone starts to come inside I overhear 'N' complaining about having to call his mother. He's adopted, lives with the Catholic family, his mother is living at a rehabilitation center for drug addicts. She gave him up for adoption, but still harasses him with weird phone calls every now and then.
At this point, Aunt 'SG', the Jewish one, turns from the table to look at 'N'.
"Call your mother ferfucksake, it's Christmas."
Damn, I love my family. At least somewhere in this world, this fucked-up over-commercialized holiday season still works like its supposed to.
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