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The Key to Living in New Jersey
Poetry Corner: Something's Fishy
Stuff That You Didn't Even Want to Know
Stuff That Doesn't Suck Like a Hoover
Christmas comes
but once a year
By David Trinko
Ahh, Christmastime in the Trinko household. It's about as much fun as a root canal, but at least dentists have the good sense to shoot you up with Novocain first.
Imagine, if you will, that you're an adorable, fuzzy hamster in a fairly spacious cage. You're comfortable in your cage of cedar shavings, enjoying yourself jogging around that crazy wheel of life, never heading anywhere in particular. But this one time a year, you return to your parents' cage, which is about the same size as yours. Then include a dozen or so other related hamsters in that very same cage, ranging in age from the littlest hyperactive rodent to the wise, wise Grand Poobah of the family. The cage is starting to get a little crowded.
Now imagine adding multi-colored confetti constantly flying around that cage. Voila! You have the Trinko family Christmas. When you get that many people ripping through presents at the same time, it's just like you're riding down Main Street in a ticker tape parade, celebrating a world championship or some such nonsense. Certainly this is the best way to celebrate the birth of Christ.
Don't get me wrong, this is some of the best family a man can imagine having. The wonder of family, though, is you have nothing in common with them except perhaps a last name (and not even that with some of the so-called in-laws or, as my Grandpa used to call them, "outlaws") and the knowledge of their weak spots. Despite your best efforts, you WILL get caught up in a conversation that absolutely infuriates you to the point of wishing your siblings were serious when they told you, at age 6, you were adopted. You spend your time wondering if a DNA test is a wise investment.
Every member of my family is a wonderful, interesting person as an individual. They're all fairly intelligent, open-minded folks. When they're together, though, it degenerates into a WWF (wonderfully wicked family) tag-team match. I watched in horror as they poked and prodded through my brother's personal life, trying to prove he was homosexual.
"You know, it's OK if you're gay," I hear one sister say.
"Yes, there's nothing wrong with that at all. If you're not interested in women, we still accept you," sister number two says.
"But I'm not gay. I'm just not married yet," my brother responds, hardly a spinster at the age of 30. His face changes from pale to pink.
"But if you want to be gay, we accept that," chimes in a third sister.
"I'm NOT," moving up the color scale from pink to scarlet.
"It's OK that you are. We don't love you any less."
"But I'm NOT. Let's just drop it," he says, advancing in color to a deep red.
Fortunately for my sanity, I live a healthy 12-hour drive from the family. So I can tell them anything I like to keep them at bay. Girlfriends? I have thirty of them in Savannah, one for every day of the month. Of course some months have 31 days. After all, guy needs a day off once in a while. You return to your candied yams before they can hit you up for more details, on these 30 lovely lasses giving you time to refuel your body and imagination for this job.
And spending the holidays with your family is a job, no doubt about it. This year's Christmas festivities lasted eight hours, starting with when the first sibling arrived with a brand-spankin' new child and ending shortly after the last batch decided they'd had enough for this millennium. The difference is that a full-time job offers you the option of a lunch break to get away from the stress of your eight hours in hell.
All this having been said, I had a fabulous time returning home for the holidays. I'm just glad Christmas comes but once a year.
David Trinko is an editor at the Savanna Morning Post and an all around swell guy. He's still looking for girlfriend number 31.