Christmas,
Nineteen Eighty Something (A Short)
That same Christmas Santa (aka Way Cooler
Big Sister) gave me a hot pink tourmaline hair crimper. Hello, it was
the eighties. Big mops were all the rage. It gave me an opportunity to catch up
with all those hair band posters. After gifts and breakfast, we all dispersed
from the living room for a spell and reconvened in the kitchen for turkey
dinner. It was me, my Mother, Way Cooler Big Sister, Rock Star Brother, and a
few others who for the life of me I cannot remember. That Christmas puts me at
the height of my teenage acne epidemic as well as the brutal beginnings of my
lifelong battle with the bulge. My hair was long and thick still. At least I
had that.
I got The Game of Life that year.
While our bellies settled from all the Yuletide fixings and before we broke the
game open, Way Cooler Big Sister crimped my hair. By the time I got to the
table to play with my new pleated locks, Rock Star brother and whoever else was
there had imbibed, perhaps just a little. Just a wee bit. Spirits
were high. My Mother was busy cleaning up after our feast while we horsed
around playing the board game. Rock Star brother popped a bottle of Peach Schnapps
open to mix with orange juice and lots of ice. He and Way Cooler Big Sister clanked
glasses and then snuck one in front of me. Score! Certainly, it was more
juice than hooch, my Mother was standing by! I was the banker in the game since
I was the sanest at the table. Plus, it was my game. I was doling out
everyone’s money when Rock Star Brother, out of nowhere, exploded in fit of
uncontrollable laughter. His mirth was so mighty the whole of his body was
shaking but not a peep was coming out of his mouth. Tears streamed down his
cheeks. He fist-bumped the kitchen table to find relief. In his Schnapps haze,
he looked up, took one look at my hair, which was higher than the Empire State
Building, and he lost it. It is a rare occasion to see Rock Star Brother laugh
in this manner. Once I got over the insecurity of his laughing directly at me,
I started laughing with him. Way Cooler Big Sister had already started
wheezing. And, so did my Mother. From the other side of the kitchen no less!
Just from hearing him bust a gut. Shortly after his hilarious outburst, he
spilled an entire glass of Schnapps and OJ all over the game. More hilarity
ensued. The Game of Life as it stood was no longer feasible to play. It
was sticky and bubbled. Oh, but the merriment was more than worth it.
I can tell you this much, it was a much
more enjoyable holiday even with the near maxi pad scare and the ruination
of my brand-new game. Years before, when I was still wide-eyed and full of childish
wonder, I asked Santa Claus for a writing desk. I dreamed of something crisp white
and magnificent, with deep drawers and fancy handles. I got up in the middle of
the night to pee. I was sharing a room with Way Cooler Big Sister at the time. She
followed me down the hall in the dark. I was supposed to make a sharp turn into
the bathroom, but I could see the daylight straining from the living room. It
was almost morning and I could hardly contain my excitement to see if the jolly
guy made good on his promise to deliver a desk. I started rounding the corner
to see if I could see straight into the living room, but I slammed into
something solid and sharp that wasn’t supposed to be in the middle of the hall,
“Ouuuuch!” Way Cooler Big sister rolled her eyes at my dramatic
reaction. I flipped on the light and there it was, just as I had dreamed, a crisp
white magnificent desk, with deep drawers, fancy gold handles on the deep drawers.
I squealed in delight, looked to Way Cooler Big Sister and said, “Santa brought
me my desk! Look! I wonder why he left it in the hallway.” She, surly and
uninterested scoffed quite matter of factly, “Mom and Dad put it there.”
Totally innocent and confused I asked her, “Why would they do that?” She
rolled her eyes and emitted a deep slow sigh, “Because they are Santa Claus.”
I was taken aback, “HUH!?” Stunned and even more confused, I
looked at the most beautiful desk in the whole wide world and then up at her, “Santa
isn’t real?” Way Cooler Big Sister pursed her lips and shrugged, “Nope.
You’re getting too old to believe in him anyway. About time someone told you
the truth.” I didn’t believe a word that came out of her stupid mouth. But later,
after the fake surprise reaction to my desk (re)discovery, I sidled up to
Father Mine and asked him if what Way Cooler Big Sister said was true. Turned
out it was.
I didn’t care what any of them said, I
still believed. I still might.
***
A small snapshot of a Christmas past. I have
always loved moments when raucous laughter takes over. Especially with family. I
been witness to my brother laughing that hard only a handful of times, and he’s
a funny guy. But, when it hits that hard, it’s worth being present for. I can
see us, plain as the nose on my face, at the dining room table, turning ourselves
inside out laughing. Admittedly, I was intensely insecure because these were people
I idolized. I wanted to look cool in front of them, not foolish. As a grown up
now, I have no problem, but at that time, it was hard to swallow, primarily because
I was so uncomfortable in my own skin, and so eager to be near them. But the
laughter, oh. Made everything good. Doesn’t it always?
As for my Way Cooler Big Sister, it took
awhile before I forgave the Santa fiasco. It goes without saying, we laughed
about it often as adults.
In propinquity,
Nic
