The Most Wonderful Time...

Good Eats

If you've ever been to an Italian house at the holidays, then you know that they pull every single thing out of the fridge when you stop by including the butter and Asti-Spumanti.  Although my Mom rarely cooked, we did have some store-bought stuff on-hand for the occasional visitor (and I was able to bang out a pretty great chocolate cake in my Easy-Bake Oven).  Black olives, pepperoni, stinky cheese (that my Mom hated that my Dad bought and they fought about it every year) and my Dad's famous homemade Pizelles were the staples.  We usually had spaghetti for Christmas dinner, but the occasional ham snuck it's way in.  A day or so before, my Dad would make his famous Smelts which stunk up the whole house (another recurring fight of theirs).  One of the things that my Dad did especially for me was get me a box of Torrone Italian nougat candy... the kind that comes in the little boxes with the pictures of Italian ladies that I was sure were our relatives.  No one else ate them but me.  He also had cherry vodka that he'd put in ginger ale and he'd always put a maraschino cherry or five in it for me.  Technically a jacked up Shirley Temple, I'm sure that this contributed to my need today to always put a cherry in my drink (and my gayness).  I'm pretty sure that all the formaldehyde that they put in the cherries is what, to this day, gives my skin the tautness of an 8 year old Swedish schoolgirl.  Mom and Dad would have their yearly Whiskey Sours and some Dago red wine that my Dad had laying around for just such an occasion.

Entertaining

When we were growing up, our house was the place to congregate.  In Pittsburgh, a lot of people (my Aunt, still) live in their basements and it's the epicenter for all that's stirring.  We'd have 50+ people down there and while my Mom was living, you could eat off the floor.  Her baking oven was down there (as opposed to her oven-for-show upstairs), not that she used either.  We always knew that if there was something baking, it was either for a bake sale at her women's club or a wedding was near.  My Aunt would always come over around noon, which was always my favorite part of visiting, even though we never left the house to visit.  My cousin, Donna, would stay over our house (because my Aunt had too many children and it was too crowded there?) so it was like my Mom having the daughter that she always wanted and me having a sister.  TWO sisters, for my brother, technically, I guess.  It wouldn't be Christmas if my Mom didn't put us up on a table in our long-johns or some outfit to sing a song and dance a jig.  Yea, folks... no clue as to how I turned out gay (making me a go-go boy at 4).

Decorating

My Dad was always in charge of putting up the tree, which was always artificial.  Once silver aluminum with large pink balls and a rotating color-wheel that made it change colors, we eventually upgraded to a green one.  I remember the ends of the limbs were all color-coded with the stalk, and somehow, my Dad always fucked it up anyway.  My Mom took over with the colored lights (since only she could space them correctly) and the gold tinsel... and sometimes, we were allowed to put on a bulb or two and the mix-n-match ornaments.  The tree rested on an uncovered piece of plywood surrounded by a faux-brick skirt that my Dad stapled a train track to with a train going round and round, the air thick with the smell of burning transformer that made it go (sometimes, if you banged on it).  I had my own 3 foot tree that I put up that had ornaments that I collected or hand-made and, while I was living in Philadelphia and was storing it at my parents, my brother sold it lock, stock and barrel for crack cocaine.  Christmas eve, my brother and I would crawl in the same bed and my Mom would read "The Night Before Christmas" to us.  Then my brother wouldn't get out of my bed and go sleep on his own... and yet, I'm the gay one.

One year, we went to some store and were allowed to pick out our own signature Christmas music box.  My brother chose a statuette of the We Three Kings story fame (that played that tune, as well).  All clad in turbans and robes, the one in the middle was bejeweled on his head with what appeared to be a genuine sapphire, and I tried for years to pry that out of there to make a ring or maybe a bangle bracelet out of it, but with no such luck.  Mine was a white organ that lit up with two naked little angel boys (ass up) perched upon either side of the top corners and it played Silent Night.  To this day, if nothing else, I pull that thing out as my only decoration, despite the glue that holds it together turning a shade much like amber, one of the angels is missing a leg and Silent Night sounds more like a fight between two alley cats, all warbly and shrieking. 

Out of a full-size Kleenex box, I made a very comfortable bed for my Ken doll, which I always put under the tree to keep an eye on things (and to keep things looking fabulous).  I always dressed him in his red velvet reading jacket with the black velvet collar which, looking back now, must have been uncomfortable for him, albeit stylish. Sometimes my G.I. Joe would keep him company (if G.I. Joe's girlfriend was out of town)... they always had this butch/preppy thing going on that I didn't quite understand at the time, but now I get it... COMPLETELY.

Gifts

Our stockings, a good 3 feet long, hung on the front door and with all the stuff in it, had to be reinforced with lugnuts so it would hold the weight.  Socks, underwear and always filled with candy... and my favorite was the box shaped like a book that was lined with rolls of Lifesavers... and the Tootsie Roll cylinder bank.  We were allowed to open one present Christmas Eve, but it was usually the one that my brother got for me and vice-versa.  With the hesitation of Wile E. Coyote in front of a crate marked "ACME", I often suspected something to blow up or cut me or both.  I was always a shy kid and hated opening presents, so I usually took them into my room to open.  Every year at school, they would have Santa's Workshop and we would get probably $5.00 to buy gifts for our family.  We''d go into a big room where they had all this crap made in China laid out and I'd usually get some combination screwdriver situation for my Dad and some fine bric-a-brac piece or plate for my Mom.  I knew it was good china because it was stamped "China" on the bottom... the mark of the really good stuff.  Christmas morning, I'd always be the first one up and we'd open presents while our dog, Lucky, played in and ate the wrapping paper.  Years later, we feel it was most certainly the lead in the colored paper that did him in.  One year, after he walked around with an 'inspected by" sticker on his nose with a number on it, my Dad played the number in the lottery and actually won... true story.  After a flurry of unwrapping, I'd usually spend the rest of the day playing with the boxes that the gifts came in after I chose a most swanky new outfit to wear to greet the day's guests.

I think that we, as a people, like things that we are comfortable with and tend to buck change.  And although we may bitch about our pathetically-perceived history, it makes us who we are... it's a part of us and it's totally ours.