(unpublished essay)
Perhaps no other time of year is as highly anticipated, and secretly dreaded,
as that festive family-time known collectively as "the holidays." For
that clash of fake gaiety with Xmas's unrealistic expectations can become
a train wreck, releasing both poles of our Jekyll-Hyde personalities.
We cope the best we can. Sometimes we slip behind familiar masks. We play
comforting, non-confrontational roles, or perhaps hide out in the kitchen
behind a tower of dirty dishes. For example, I noticed how in recent years
I had become "the entertainer." My job: make 'em laugh.
To see if this holiday ailment afflicted more than just myself, recently
I polled my friends and select family members. I had them write descriptions
of their annual performances, each titled "The Holiday Role I Play." Reported
anonymously, here are their edited responses:
>I am considered the queen of Christmas.
>When I go home for the holidays I am the "good sport." No matter what
game I am asked to play, song I am asked to sing, I never complain. There
is time to get even later.
>I am "the pretender" and enter into all they're doing and willingly going
along. At some level, I know they know this.
>Characterize me as "The Bartender." Everyone's glass is full --- which
permits me to fill my own glass in the doing.
>At mom's house I am the "organizer." Everything must run on schedule,
all the dishes at the proper temperature, the gifts opened in descending
order of seniority. My husband is the "clean-up guy." When all the gals
are sipping their Bailey's he is quietly at the sink washing and drying.
>I think I am the "son that needs to be spoiled." Whenever I come home
for the holidays, my mom wants to spoil her "lost son" as much as possible.
>I play three roles. With the immediate family, I am "the reminder of
the love before." Mom sees my father in my face and usually loses her
mind. The second role I play is "the project"-everyone is eager to see
me fifty and relatively finished. Finally, I am "the outsider." My family
is a bunch of heartening, Midwestern hicks, barely anyone finishing college,
lots of alcoholics, teenage drug addicts and runaways who try to commit
suicide. To have become the quiet one who got out of Fort Wayne, Indiana,
without babies or a husband, is always unsettling.
>I can tell you right off my role would be "moderator." Such choice therapeutic
phrases such as "what I hear you saying is…" and "what I think she is
trying to express is…" are commonly uttered by me. I try to avoid using
language like "shame spiral" and "co-dependent." (Note: variations on
this was the most common response --- "the referee," "the sounding board,"
"the therapist," "the link repairer," "the peacemaker.")
>I play the "honored guest," graciously bestowing my presence and allowing
myself to be treated as such.
>I have no idea what my role is. I think maybe I'm the guy who makes screaming
faces in the bathroom mirror and then comes out all smiley.
>I know the pitfalls of family gatherings (a dirge-like, morose collection
of individuals, shoveling down holiday food to the strains of Johnny Mathis
and searching for an appropriate escape) and do my best to avoid/dilute
them.
>My role: "I Am My Sister's Keeper." We share thousands of tiny glances
throughout one holiday evening that speak volumes in the moment, and signify
volumes to be spoken much later. Separately, we can hardly win any battles,
but together, on Christmas, we are an unstoppable army of two.
>I am the one trying to shed a little factual light on my family's highly
distorted, historically rewritten views. I used to be the family clown.
I don't think the two are that different --- just components of the same
role.
>In my house I take the role of "the Conversationalist." Frequently this
involves many different conversations, held in a constant blur of moving
from living room to kitchen and back again, trying to not alight on the
couch and be sucked into the brain numbing drone of TV. The talk goes
a little like this: Cooking, a little politics and sports with Dad; sports
with younger brother; current events and education with Step-mom. Don't
alienate anyone, make sure you include all the guests, remember to include
significant others. Above all else avoid the deadly seven minute dead
air. Silence isn't golden. Perhaps we will find out how far we have traveled
from each other over the year.
>As a child I was the anointed Christmas infant, responsible for displays
of wonder. As a young adult my role shifted to being the one responsible
for the continuation of our handed-down traditions of perfection-Mid-Winter
Monarch and Kitchen Queen-she who secures the boundaries, mediates the
squabbles and is provider of plenty. Now, in exile and older, I have become
the contented ghost of Christmas Past.
>My son is unable to type so I will attempt to respond for him. His role
is to experience and share pure unadulterated joy during the holidays.
He jumps with excitement when putting out a plate of cookies, eight carrots,
and a glass of milk for Santa. He brings meaning to the holidays. Ask
him this question in another five years and I am sure you'll get a answer
more like what you were expecting.
Ethan Gilsdorf (www.ethangilsdorf.com) is a poet and freelance writer living in Paris. 900 words