Something about Christmas
Ah, Christmastime. It’s beautifully decorated trees, gifts you’ve always wanted, food you eat too much of, and that weird side of the family you’re forced to spend Christmas dinner with.
Not familiar with this scenario? Count your blessings. Now, don’t get me wrong, I love my family—even the weird ones—but it’s always hard to go from gift-giving, to church, and then to your whiskey-loving aunt’s house.
By dinnertime, most of my aunts have finished off their bottles, and are looking for more; my uncles, and other relatives whom I often wonder if I’m even related to, are outside smoking up a storm and talking about football, Budweiser, and NASCAR.
I grab a beer and sit at the kids’ table for dinner, because as far as my family is concerned, I’m still a child. I sit beside my cousins who range from ages eight to 14, and my sister, the second oldest member at the table who boasts a whole 17 years of age and life experience.
My aunts usually slow down after dinner as the alcohol absorbs into their perogies and mashed potatoes. Realizing this, they move to hard liquor to get that buzz back. They talk to me about things that, as a girl, I must be interested in: boys, make up, shopping, drinking, and what it has been like getting an education that extends further than grade 11.
The night always ends in karaoke. There are husband-wife pairs, father-son teams, and family ensembles singing terrible renditions of My Heart Will Go On, Whose Bed Have Your Boots Been Under, and my all-time favourite, Any Man of Mine, which almost always gets the whole family involved. I love Christmas, and I love my family, but this is one tradition I could do without.
Ashley Kilian
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