Saturday, December 12, 2015

Foot, Mouth? Mea Culpa, More Or Less

     Mom X was back in the hospital briefly this week, with one of those issues that are minor when you're 50* but worrisome at her age.  I stopped in to visit.  She had a question for me: "So where have you been going to Thanksgiving?"

     Yes, in re my blog post.  Busted!  I had compiled a "worst of" and tried to play it for laughs -- fairly dark laughs, at that.  It was unfair of me; before I moved out at 19, Mom ran the holiday feast like a general and other than the constant conflicts of my youth ("Bobbi, put that book down and come out where everyone else is," and sibling arguments while doing the dishes), they were not the kind of mess I wrote of.  What I can remember of them is pleasant.

     Later, when all us kids were as adult as we were going to get (not very), my sister and her (then) family started hosting Family Thanksgiving and I found the gathering awkward and uncomfortable.  She and I do not get along. I drew most of my Worst Of from those years.  The feasts eventually fragmented and had recoalesced at Mom's house for the last several years she lived there; those were about 50/50 for me, which is not a reflection on Mom's efforts but my own limitations.

     Having grown up shy and extremely introverted in a family where everyone else was far less so -- my siblings were relatively extroverted -- my experience was not the same as theirs.  One person's delightful, family-filled fun day is another's six hours to try to get through without too much stress and I do not think that's something to apologize for. On this, opinions vary.
* A milestone her youngest child passed this last year.