I love my kids, I just hate parenting
My dad loves fantasy movies.
He loves them so much that it doesn’t matter how bad they are, how low-rent the production is, how terrible the cast is or how pitifully stupid they end up being. If there’s a dragon or some magic involved, he’s in. No questions asked.
My wife is the same way with movies about Christmas. And there are a LOT of them.
I’m no stranger to giving passive-aggressive gifts to subtly – or not – display my true feelings.
But my in-laws don’t play.
Thanks to the gift they got for my son, Christmas will be a not-so-silent night this year.
Growing up, when I asked my parents what they wanted for Christmas, they always made a (sad) joke out of it. They knew my brothers and I didn’t have any money, so they didn’t bother asking for anything real, like a new car, or a box of Cuban cigars, or a new furniture set.
Instead, they used Santa the way someone might use a genie: by asking my brothers and me for things that were abstract, theoretical, and totally unattainable. Just to make a point. They’d make requests like, “for you and your brothers to get along” or “a little peace and quiet” or “for you to behave.” Just totally insane shit that would never happen in a million years.
Now that I’m a dad, nobody ever asks me what I want. But if they did? I’d reply exactly the same way as my mom and dad. Because I was wrong; they weren’t joking.
The intangible, imaginary stuff really is what parents want for Christmas.
Mom and Buried is obsessed with Christmas.
Every December, she puts together a long list of holiday-based activities that we absolutely have to make time for, including visiting specific landmarks (the tree in Rock Center), attending specific events (Santa – at the busiest Macy’s in the world) and watching every single Christmas movie and TV special (even the grade-Z stuff on Hallmark and Lifetime).
The most important activity of all? Listening to Christmas music.
