Holidays

Every November and December, across the nation, it is the same: each kid eagerly anticipates the coming school break warranted to him by either the Pilgrims or Christ. Children count the days to the end of the month, be it November or December, and become increasingly excited. Throughout my childhood, every Thanksgiving has been the same and every Christmas has been, too.
On the last Thursday of November, every year, I am awakened by my elder brother Steve. He enters my room and beats on my drum set until I throw an object at him. I proceed to get up grudgingly and shower. Upstairs I go to breakfast on Chex Mix and, if it hasn’t already been done, switch on the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade. It stays on all day, even if it’s not being watched. At three o’clock the turkey is always unexpectedly done early, and there is a mad dash to make potatoes, yams, and cranberry sauce. The dinner is enjoyed, despite disputes over table land-usage rights (my left-handed brother sits to my right, and elbows are always bumped), and I sleep off my turkey/sparkling grape juice high during back-to-back college football games. Finally, Christmas lists are discussed.
On the twenty-fifth of December, of every year, I am again awakened by my brother’s poundings. I shower and am greeted by the smell of sausage and egg casserole, which everybody has already partaken of, excluding my second brother David, who is still sleeping. A Yule fire is lit in the living room, and eventually everyone is gathered there. Our entertainment for this morning is the opening of packages, one by one. At three o’clock, the turkey is always unexpectedly done early, and there is a mad dash to make potatoes, yams, and cranberry sauce. The dinner disputes recur, and I nap to reruns of “It’s a Wonderful Life.” Finally, birthday lists are discussed.
This is how all thirty-five of my past Thanksgiving/Christmases have passed, and yet, the holidays never seem to grow old. In recent history, these two events, along with Easter, are the only days our entire family is assembled in one place, and despite the few arguments that transpire, these days are magical. Stories remembering our respective childhoods are told, and again we live as a family. Without everything as it always is, these holidays would seem less legitimate.