Christmas fighting

Christmas not so much... With my parents it was every Sunday - over lunch.
After church, my dad went to early church, my mother went to 11 a.m. mass. When she came home and started to fix lunch it was only a matter of time. Pretty much the same shit every week.
My dad either would or would not say something that my mother would perceive as a slight and it erupted from there and ended with my mom crying and dad pissed.

My mom thinks my dad is alcoholic (because he drinks more than one beer at a sitting, seriously). In fairness, my dad used to be a real hateful mother fucker. Just a SOB to be around. He had an affair when I was in college (though I think it was more due to the fact mom was clinging to the church).
When he retired and my brother died and he changed 180 degrees.
My mom ... if she wasn't married I swear she'd be a nun if she had it to do over again. She uses religion as a crutch to sidestep the issues she has with my dad and my brother's suicide.
In addition to thinking dad is alcoholic - she blames him for my brother's suicide. She hates him - perhaps with good reason - but won't admit it.
My dad, also blames himself, but has made incredible strides since.

When my sister and I brought up the Sunday fights a few years ago my mom acted like she had no idea what we were talking about.

Wow. I ended up posting a lot more than I intended.. Just venting ...

 

When I was growing up every family gathering (which meant pretty much every holiday) would end with at least two of my uncles (or my aunts, or an aunt and uncle) outside physically fighting. That's what happens when you mix Irish blood with mass quantities of alcohol and occasionally cocaine.

After my grandparents died, we all went separate ways and I still don't interact with any of them. Life is peaceful now.

 

The worst is when people who don't want to see each other are forced together because of parents, grandparents etc...

I was completely indifferent to Christmas until I met my wife. Now, I love Christmas and everything that comes with it.

 

I'm hosting my parents this year for the first time. Every year, there's been some massive wrinkle involved. I'm hoping the change of scenery and a relatively full docket will help things go smoothly.

 

Sadly, when I think of Christmas family gatherings, I can only recall the one Christmas where my dad and my step-grandfather got into a physical confrontation right after lunch.

My step-grandfather was a drunk who had Wild Turkey running through his veins that day. He called my mom, his step-daughter, a fat bitch and my dad confronted him and my step-grandfather threw a punch. A knocked-over table and several frightened kids later, they were pulling my dad off the drunk.

Needless to say, that was the last time we had a big family gathering for Christmas. In the 20 years since, we've gone to my parents' house and kept it very small and very casual.

I told my wife that I'd love to start hosting an annual Christmas family gathering, but every time I even mention it, I get this weird flashback and realize what we currently do is perfect.

 

I don't know the name of the artist off the top of my head, but there's a song that's quite appropriate for this thread. The title is "I don't like half the folks I love."

 

Twice in the last 10 years, my older brother has been arrested at my mother's house during breakfast on Christmas morning.

The last time it happened, he had his flavor of the week with him and she acted like it was no big deal and continued eating her meal. They had been "dating" about two weeks, apparently. Then she stayed and watched us open our presents. It was the first time--and last time--we ever saw her.

Weird.

 

T'was the night before Christmas, and all through the house,
not a creature was stirring ... except THAT GODDAMN BITCHWHORE OF A WIFE,
The stockings were hung over the shower rod with care,
in hopes that my neck soon would be there.

The children were nestled all snug in their beds,
while visions of a Christmas BJ danced through my head,
And Bitchwhore in her gown, and I in my cap,
try to imagine she's Cinnamon from the strip club bobbin' in my lap,

When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from my bed to see what was the matter
Away to the window I flew and I flashed,
Tore open the windows and threw open the sash,

The moon on the craggy breasts of Bitchwhore and new fallen snow,
gave the lustre of mid-day to objects below,
When what to my wondering eyes should appear,
but Bitchwhore's drunken brother Joey, his skanky girlfriend Vanessa and an '85 Camaro that'd been hit in the rear,

With Joey driving, so lively and quick,
He opened the door, fell on the lawn and suddenly got sick,
More rapid than eagles his vomit it came,
I yelled out and called him by name,
"Now Joey! Hey asshole! Now bitch he sticks his dick in!"
Stop the vomit! Hey stupid! I'll call the cops in!"

To the top of the porch! To the top of the wall!
The neighbor shouted, "Shut the fuck up, y'all!"
As the dry heaves after the wild night fly,
when they meet with the toilet, the shame makes you cry,
So to the housetop coursers he flew,
with a bag full of brews and eyes of rage, too,

And then, in a twinkling, I saw at the door,
Our local homeless guy, so smelly and poor,
As I drew in my head and was turning around,
Through the window "Bill" came with a bound!

He was dressed all in rags, from his head to his foot,
All his clothes tarnished with ashes and soot,
A bundle of toys he had flung on his back,
No doubt stolen from the local store's rack,

His eyes, how they twinkled! His dimples how merry!
He was soused, he was loaded, on wine made from cherry!
His droll little mouth curled up like a bow,
And the beard of his chin as yellow as the snow

The stump of a crack pipe he held firm in three teeth,
And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath,
He had a thin face and little round belly,
but snarled as he said, "Gimme yo money!"

He was skinny and gaunt, no jolly old elf,
A home invasion this was, I feared for myself,
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,
Soon let me know I had plenty to dread,

He spoke not a word but went straight to work,
stealing our stockings, wow what a jerk!
And laying his finger inside of his nose,
after giving a nod through the window he strode,

He sprang to Joey's Camaro, still rumbling with a whistle,
and away through the night he flew like a missile,
But I heard him exclaim as he drove out of sight,
"Happy Christmas to all, and to all a ... Aw, shit, who threw up in here!?"

 

To begin with, the holidays become more stressful the older you get. Plus, families are dysfunctional -on whatever level - by nature.

Seeing this thread made me think of this - during Thanksgiving, a study was done that found that about 60 percent of people surveyed believed they would be involved in some sort of family dispute during the holidays.

 

One of my favorite jokes:

Everyone is gathered around the table for Christmas dinner, and 8-year-old Susie has been waiting for a month to say "Grace" for the first time. With all eyes on her, though, she freezes and starts crying. Her mom calms her down and tells her, "It's easy, honey. Just talk to the Lord the way Mommy does."

Susie's eyes brighten. With newfound confidence, she says:

"Jesus Christ, who invited all these fucking people!"

 

Never had a problem during Christmas, but a few years ago at Thanksgiving, my wife and my mom got into a huge fight that was about 65 percent my wife's fault, and 35 percent my mom's and it was over something very ridiculous. My wife ended up taking one of the kids and going home.

It upset me and our kids, and it took nearly everything I could summon up not to dump the gravy on both of them.