This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental. Any individuals suspecting that any character is a composite of them with another’s traits or an exaggeration of their persona is incorrect.
My immediate family will travel to the big city to celebrate Christmas with our extended family. The real journey begins upon our arrival and is comprised of a maze of political traps and social issue ensnarement. You see, we comprise the tiny minority liberal contingent headed into the family sanctum of unabashed conservatism. I envision the tale of the Christmas yet to come...
(cue seasonal music...wavy video... building to crescendo of full throttled Trans-Siberian Orchestra hard rock reached as the picture comes into focus)
Around the table is arrayed nearly a double dozen family members and a few family friends. It starts with grace and my youngest child’s suspicion that a couple of the "church-proctor" Aunts are noting which lips really know the words. But that’s just some initial wariness that wears off as wine is poured, chatter and laughter abounds, travel nightmares are exchanged, and platters of food are passed.
The first skirmish is light but gets the fun going. As the roast beef lands in front of my middle child, she passes it quickly on mentioning that she is a vegetarian now. That immediately draws a pleasant Grandmotherly set of understanding phrases about being sensitive and young and caring about the poor creatures but making sure you get enough protein dear and take vitamins advice. This wise child liberal errs by all too casually remarking that it isn’t about eating animals at all but her concerns about vapid American consumerism and cow flatuance contributing to climate change. The older responsible cousin with the MBA engages in a furious set of diminutive kicks under the table to quell the early political engagement bracketed with an all too long oratory of praise for the sweet potatoes and who’s recipe is it cover-up. The hunter Uncle’s remark about vegans with the obligatory second amendment notation gets drowned out.
The initial round is over and the meal proceeds. I fend off a trifling health care shot over the bow about the Senate on Christmas Eve giving us a humongous tax increase as a holiday present from the talk radio believing Bro-in-Law. A couple of "keep the peace" Sis-in-Laws give us the shushing about families, dinner, digestion, and politics. I do not rise to the bait anyhow having totally defeated him at Thanksgiving by using parody misquotes from Glenn Beck’s obnoxious book "Arguing with Idiots". Not worth it...yet.
Chatter continues and the deserts come out and my wife jumps on a series of snide exchanges about lazy state workers and their lecherous unions from the "successful high-flying career" siblings. Her interjection to defend her financial and time sacrifices to pursue the teaching path she loves and takes pride in actually ups the ante by drifting into wandering wondering laments about what the hell are we teaching these kids these days, they don’t even know basic math when I go to the checkout counter, all this coddling bad behavior, and liberal institutionalization of politically correct text books. It’s a rich vein and they begin mining it for all its worth careful to say to my wife that she’s such an exception (we don’t know how can you deal with it) and how the teachers at this school, that school, my kids’ school, colleges, and so on are a big reason for the decline of the United States and we better watch out for those smart Indians, not those American Indians, you know the other ones with the call centers. Uncles jump in with the why don’t you teach them English instead of this ELS or ESL or whatever it is crap with all this Kwanzaa bunk and also toss out all that stupid bullying sensitivity training BS which ought to get resolved with a couple of playground bloody noses anyhow. The thing starts to spin, I think we ready to go off the deep end when the Patriarch erupts!
Hey! He didn’t do the WW Two thing so we could argue. All you kids (they are all in their fifties) went to college and have jobs. This is America and this is an American family and we ought to act respectful of one and another as Americans and not do all this fighting because he fought so we didn’t have to fight and just because some of us are more (I sense a total misread coming on.) successful than others, so and so is a super successful manager, look at the entrepreneurial success of this son, this daughter has a beach house summer home now, another sibling is raking in a big bonus based on bank sales success and we even have a dedicated teacher of children too (whoops, success word missing in that clause). And all of this is because we live in America and we did it growing up together in parochial schools with the nuns setting us on the straight and narrow with the Pledge of Allegiance to America before all this ALUC or ACLU or whoever those commies are stuff and before busing spoiled our suburb and we ought to stop fighting right now because this is American where we are fortunate to live in a country where people have died so we can have the freedom to speak our minds.
It gets the message across: don’t get me going! Careful escapes are made into the tree decoration diversion, how about those Patriots, let’s not upset the little kids, my new car has, what are you taking next semester (oh, please, please don’t mention the gay and lesbian studies), pass that wine over here, what vintage is this, I thought you served this at room temperature, you can have red or white with any dish now you know exit strategy.
But that wine is getting passed around and around and the sambuca and limoncello are out on the table. Ok, the pump is primed, time to serve the "pie", what will it be? Taxes? No, we do that debate every Easter. We exhausted health care at on Thanksgiving even though it is the most proximate political target with the added plus that they hate their two US Senators. Social issues are always good fodder for an impending family riot and there are so many to choose from but that cousin is still in the closet as far as the Grandparents are concerned. Revisionist history by the conservative contingent is fun too but the little kids feel left out. The decline into socialism devolves too quickly into no we’re not, yes you are, well you will not, yes we can jibs with the inevitable that crazy dictator Obama, its true I read it on the internets, secret cabal fantasies. War and peace always requires too much tiptoeing around the "I served while you were a hippie smoking that hash" rehash. We already did an education slam, unions got their chops busted a bit, we had a few moments of brief class warfare, there was a dash of xenophobia in that ESL tirade...let me see...oh I know, go back to where we started. I carefully and discretely write "CLIMATE" in cold gravy with my fork between the Santas and reindeer on my eldest offspring’s Christmas napkin.
She smiles, takes the old man’s advice and lights the fuse. Oh non-silent night! I see it all in a blur of images and relish the surround-sound squabble of the rest of the night. The few, the proud, the liberals do not engage; we just choreograph the show. We pit the talk radio re-run relations against the technical scientific "I read" crowd. We steer get the grandparents and grandchildren into an alliance on an environment legacy debate with the peak of their power and earnings generation. We lead the little kids with their trusting innocent concerns about the polar bears and the planet into a position where none dare confront them with their hybrids are stupid, recycling is a waste, so go save your fish friends the whales, its so-damn-cold out there can’t be global warming trash talk. We maneuver the outdoor uncles into an unclecide of responsible conservation versus responsible resource extraction traps. We blush not at setting up a few masculine talking down to girls type lectures that brings in the mothers rushing to the aid of their daughters with some maybe you don’t know it all verbal fencing. Sarah Palin gets quoted and dismissed. The volume is boisterous, faces redden, gestures are made, sides are switched multiple times, and the I don’t know what I’m talking about and you don’t know what you’re talking about quotient rises ever higher and higher like the warming oceanic waters!
It is very late in the wee hours, the arguing and fighting rages and tears on loudly in the dining room about global warming with ever shifting lines of battle. My small contingent of immediate-family liberals are sitting by the fireplace musing about the amusing state of affairs over a final glass of wine before heading upstairs to my wife’s childhood room with the peace sign clock and Simon & Garfunkel posters. There is neither nary flame nor glowing coal in the hearth but we feel very warm in the knowledge that yes, you can change the climate.
(Finally, should any of our family find themselves reading this tale, take no offense from this work of fiction, not a one is implied – Merry Christmas, we love you!)