Or, Adventures in Asshattery.
I know this is late, but I needed some distance from the last part. Also, this holiday required more running around than normal, and was followed up so closely by big events in friends' lives and actual real live work that this is the first time I've been able to sit down and put something together.
Overall, this holiday followed suit with the preceding 11 months and 24 days. It was a dud. The gifts were lovely; don't think me that ungrateful. But all furniture remained intact, all food was thoroughly cooked, demonstrable alcoholism was kept to a minimum, and family feuds merely sparked but did not rage.
Yet through all this, a hero emerged, bearing the mantle of Instigator, and shouldering the heavy burden of discomfiting the lot of us at every turn. The hero of whom I write is, as you may expect, my father.
By now, my faithful Rosie-fans are familiar with the semi-standard Holiday Pilgrimage. Christmas Eve with Dad&Co, Christmas Day with InLaws, Day After with Mom&Co. Usually, I am in contact with Dad at some point in early to mid-December, finalizing plans, determining expected dress code, and finding out what we can bring. However, 2008 threw us a loop.
Let me backup. This has to start back in October for the true effect to be made clear.
In mid-October, Dad wrote, asking if we could get together for dinner “so I have a chance to refresh my memory of what you two look like.” (Passiveaggressivesayswhat?) So I wrote him back, proposing dates on which we were free within the week and actual restaurants depending on whether he was coming from home or the office, to prove that we were serious about getting together (it has come up before). And I heard nothing. And nothing. The dates passed. Still nothing. I realized in time that nothing was coming, but knowing that we had made the last volley, I decided that it was his turn to reply and left it at that.
Now it’s November. Still nothing. He probably forgot and is too busy flying around to all his Very Important clients. Now it’s Thanksgiving. Still nothing. Not even a Happy Thanksgiving call, email, or text message. I know a card is beyond him.
Now it’s December. I get off my high horse and reach out by way of a Christmas card (the only one he received, as I understand).
And nothing.
And nothing.
And now it’s December 23. For several days, I’ve been saying that if he doesn’t call, we’re just not going. And I stomp around in a stew of self-righteousness (and I still know I was right in that determination, for what it’s worth) insisting loudly to no one that he’s cutting it awfully close. But Husband apparently inherited his mother’s need to bend over backwards in pursuit of family harmony and encouraged me to be the Mature One and call him. After more stomping around and railing at no one, I break down and do so. It’s 6pm on December 23, so I call his cell phone and his house phone and leave messages on both. Sister, Niece, and Sister’s Fiancé were all supposed to be there, so maybe they’re out seeing the sites of DC or at a nice dinner somewhere. They’ll call back and we’ll have a forced laugh.
And now it’s December 24, the day on which we are supposed to go to Dad’s. But I haven’t heard a peep out of him since mid-October. There certainly has been no invitation to Christmas Eve, no discussion of appropriate garb, and no suggestions of something I can bring to help out. I call again at 10 am – cell phone and house phone, but I know he has no cell reception to speak of and a questionable house line, so I also email both his home and work email addresses because even if his phone lines aren’t working, I know his email does.
And now it’s noon on December 24. And nothing. Now I’m not just bemused. I’m pissed off. Granted, my self-righteousness has been in overdrive, waxing poetic at the possibility of Best Christmas Ever (namely one in which we don’t go over to Dad’s on Christmas Eve and instead get to relax at home with the glow of the tree and a glass of good wine) and threatening to just not go and not try again since the man is an adult and needs to understand that inaction has its consequences as well. But my stubborn sense of What Is Right is simultaneously all up in a flutter over either being snubbed or outright forgotten. So I make one last round of calls to his cell phone, his house phone, and this time also to his work phone. No answer on any of the above. On each voicemail, I try to keep my voice light, but I do inform him that if we do not hear back by 2pm, we’re going to assume we are not invited this year and that we will make alternate plans. I email him this same information, again to both addresses. I also call Sister’s cell phone and text her for good measure, figuring that I’ve covered all of my bases this time and that there is nothing more I can do.
And now it’s 2:30 pm on December 24. Torn between giddiness over having Christmas Eve the way *I* want to and the indignation over having been excluded and general frustration with the man-child, I stomp my way upstairs and take my shower, preparing to run to Giant to get stuff for dinner.
At 3pm, as I’m combing my hair out, the phone rings. It’s Dad. And he’s cheerful. And he wants to know what time we’re coming over tonight. It seems that he has not yet received any of my messages or emails; it's just the first time it has occurred to him to make this call. In spite of all the threats I've been making about telling him what to do with his Christmas Eve, I instead very tightly manage to tell him that we weren’t sure we were invited tonight and that Husband’s at work right now. Dad moans that he’s so sorry that we ever felt that way, that of course we’re invited, and that we should just come over whenever we can. I relay the message to Husband and we bandy about the prospect of showing up way late just to spite him, but we agree that, since Sister’s Fiancé is cooking, it’s not fair to spoil the meal that Fiancé worked hard to prepare (while also really meeting us for the first time) when we’re actually only mad at Dad. About this time, Dad calls back – what time does Husband get home, and can we make it by, say, 5:30? So much for "whenever we can."
We went, and the evening was actually rather pleasant. Dinner was delicious, everyone was civilized, and it was, frankly, the nicest Christmas Eve I've had in a number of years now. The moments of most discomfort occurred over Dad and AuntZ squabbling across the entire house (seriously, I could hear them on the second floor), and Dad imploring us to come a day early next year, complaining that he “doesn’t feel like he really *knows* us.”
A side note here – when my parents were still married, my father’s parents would plague my mother with this exact line every single time she came over. Never mind that, had they asked her a question, she would have answered. Never mind that we lived across the county, not across the country. So I found it inexplicably hilarious that Dad is now pulling the same line on me that used to drive Mom insane. Dad, maybe if you would email, or call, or actually see us instead of treating us like casual acquaintances (you know the type – you run into them and there is an exchange of “we should do lunch sometime,” but neither of you really mean it), you might “know us” better. Furthermore, I am staring 30 in the face. If you don’t know me by now, one extra night before a holiday (during which my Husband will almost certainly suffer an asthma attack due to the dust and dog dander, and will otherwise be generally congested and miserable the entire time) will not go a long way towards rectifying the situation.
But let us move on. When we returned from Richmond and finally had a moment to ourselves, I found a mass email from Dad in my inbox, generally saying Happy New Year and listing items that were found and probably belong to someone in the family. He also emailed me directly, apologizing again for the Fail and saying that we should get together in January for pizza at Fireworks. I made a point of writing a very nice thank you note to him, trying to show that there were no hard feelings over the Christmas Eve That Almost Wasn’t and agreeing that getting together for pizza would be a fine thing.
And nothing.
I know this is late, but I needed some distance from the last part. Also, this holiday required more running around than normal, and was followed up so closely by big events in friends' lives and actual real live work that this is the first time I've been able to sit down and put something together.
Overall, this holiday followed suit with the preceding 11 months and 24 days. It was a dud. The gifts were lovely; don't think me that ungrateful. But all furniture remained intact, all food was thoroughly cooked, demonstrable alcoholism was kept to a minimum, and family feuds merely sparked but did not rage.
Yet through all this, a hero emerged, bearing the mantle of Instigator, and shouldering the heavy burden of discomfiting the lot of us at every turn. The hero of whom I write is, as you may expect, my father.
By now, my faithful Rosie-fans are familiar with the semi-standard Holiday Pilgrimage. Christmas Eve with Dad&Co, Christmas Day with InLaws, Day After with Mom&Co. Usually, I am in contact with Dad at some point in early to mid-December, finalizing plans, determining expected dress code, and finding out what we can bring. However, 2008 threw us a loop.
Let me backup. This has to start back in October for the true effect to be made clear.
In mid-October, Dad wrote, asking if we could get together for dinner “so I have a chance to refresh my memory of what you two look like.” (Passiveaggressivesayswhat?) So I wrote him back, proposing dates on which we were free within the week and actual restaurants depending on whether he was coming from home or the office, to prove that we were serious about getting together (it has come up before). And I heard nothing. And nothing. The dates passed. Still nothing. I realized in time that nothing was coming, but knowing that we had made the last volley, I decided that it was his turn to reply and left it at that.
Now it’s November. Still nothing. He probably forgot and is too busy flying around to all his Very Important clients. Now it’s Thanksgiving. Still nothing. Not even a Happy Thanksgiving call, email, or text message. I know a card is beyond him.
Now it’s December. I get off my high horse and reach out by way of a Christmas card (the only one he received, as I understand).
And nothing.
And nothing.
And now it’s December 23. For several days, I’ve been saying that if he doesn’t call, we’re just not going. And I stomp around in a stew of self-righteousness (and I still know I was right in that determination, for what it’s worth) insisting loudly to no one that he’s cutting it awfully close. But Husband apparently inherited his mother’s need to bend over backwards in pursuit of family harmony and encouraged me to be the Mature One and call him. After more stomping around and railing at no one, I break down and do so. It’s 6pm on December 23, so I call his cell phone and his house phone and leave messages on both. Sister, Niece, and Sister’s Fiancé were all supposed to be there, so maybe they’re out seeing the sites of DC or at a nice dinner somewhere. They’ll call back and we’ll have a forced laugh.
And now it’s December 24, the day on which we are supposed to go to Dad’s. But I haven’t heard a peep out of him since mid-October. There certainly has been no invitation to Christmas Eve, no discussion of appropriate garb, and no suggestions of something I can bring to help out. I call again at 10 am – cell phone and house phone, but I know he has no cell reception to speak of and a questionable house line, so I also email both his home and work email addresses because even if his phone lines aren’t working, I know his email does.
And now it’s noon on December 24. And nothing. Now I’m not just bemused. I’m pissed off. Granted, my self-righteousness has been in overdrive, waxing poetic at the possibility of Best Christmas Ever (namely one in which we don’t go over to Dad’s on Christmas Eve and instead get to relax at home with the glow of the tree and a glass of good wine) and threatening to just not go and not try again since the man is an adult and needs to understand that inaction has its consequences as well. But my stubborn sense of What Is Right is simultaneously all up in a flutter over either being snubbed or outright forgotten. So I make one last round of calls to his cell phone, his house phone, and this time also to his work phone. No answer on any of the above. On each voicemail, I try to keep my voice light, but I do inform him that if we do not hear back by 2pm, we’re going to assume we are not invited this year and that we will make alternate plans. I email him this same information, again to both addresses. I also call Sister’s cell phone and text her for good measure, figuring that I’ve covered all of my bases this time and that there is nothing more I can do.
And now it’s 2:30 pm on December 24. Torn between giddiness over having Christmas Eve the way *I* want to and the indignation over having been excluded and general frustration with the man-child, I stomp my way upstairs and take my shower, preparing to run to Giant to get stuff for dinner.
At 3pm, as I’m combing my hair out, the phone rings. It’s Dad. And he’s cheerful. And he wants to know what time we’re coming over tonight. It seems that he has not yet received any of my messages or emails; it's just the first time it has occurred to him to make this call. In spite of all the threats I've been making about telling him what to do with his Christmas Eve, I instead very tightly manage to tell him that we weren’t sure we were invited tonight and that Husband’s at work right now. Dad moans that he’s so sorry that we ever felt that way, that of course we’re invited, and that we should just come over whenever we can. I relay the message to Husband and we bandy about the prospect of showing up way late just to spite him, but we agree that, since Sister’s Fiancé is cooking, it’s not fair to spoil the meal that Fiancé worked hard to prepare (while also really meeting us for the first time) when we’re actually only mad at Dad. About this time, Dad calls back – what time does Husband get home, and can we make it by, say, 5:30? So much for "whenever we can."
We went, and the evening was actually rather pleasant. Dinner was delicious, everyone was civilized, and it was, frankly, the nicest Christmas Eve I've had in a number of years now. The moments of most discomfort occurred over Dad and AuntZ squabbling across the entire house (seriously, I could hear them on the second floor), and Dad imploring us to come a day early next year, complaining that he “doesn’t feel like he really *knows* us.”
A side note here – when my parents were still married, my father’s parents would plague my mother with this exact line every single time she came over. Never mind that, had they asked her a question, she would have answered. Never mind that we lived across the county, not across the country. So I found it inexplicably hilarious that Dad is now pulling the same line on me that used to drive Mom insane. Dad, maybe if you would email, or call, or actually see us instead of treating us like casual acquaintances (you know the type – you run into them and there is an exchange of “we should do lunch sometime,” but neither of you really mean it), you might “know us” better. Furthermore, I am staring 30 in the face. If you don’t know me by now, one extra night before a holiday (during which my Husband will almost certainly suffer an asthma attack due to the dust and dog dander, and will otherwise be generally congested and miserable the entire time) will not go a long way towards rectifying the situation.
But let us move on. When we returned from Richmond and finally had a moment to ourselves, I found a mass email from Dad in my inbox, generally saying Happy New Year and listing items that were found and probably belong to someone in the family. He also emailed me directly, apologizing again for the Fail and saying that we should get together in January for pizza at Fireworks. I made a point of writing a very nice thank you note to him, trying to show that there were no hard feelings over the Christmas Eve That Almost Wasn’t and agreeing that getting together for pizza would be a fine thing.
And nothing.
And nothing.
Until January 8. I received an email from Dad. Subject line: “Was that you?” I’ll include the entirety of the email here for your edutainment:
Hi Rosie,
There was a voice mail waiting for me. It contained what sounded like a "Rosie sigh".
That’s it. No prelude, no taper, no “Love, Dad” (just an office email signature), and certainly no explanation as to exactly what a Rosie Sigh is. It had a statement of fact, a statement of opinion, but no question or whathaveyou that would initiate action on my part. Did he just want to inform me? Or did he think his subject line was enough? Did the guy completely miss the section in 4th grade during which we learn how to frame a letter? Nevertheless, I wrote back when I received it (a couple of hours later), explaining that I haven’t called since Christmas Eve and that then I left a real voicemail, so it probably wasn’t me; hope that helps; ~Rosie.
His response, quoted in its entirety, beginning to end: Hmmm! In any case - thanks.
And that is the last I heard from him.
Until January 8. I received an email from Dad. Subject line: “Was that you?” I’ll include the entirety of the email here for your edutainment:
Hi Rosie,
There was a voice mail waiting for me. It contained what sounded like a "Rosie sigh".
That’s it. No prelude, no taper, no “Love, Dad” (just an office email signature), and certainly no explanation as to exactly what a Rosie Sigh is. It had a statement of fact, a statement of opinion, but no question or whathaveyou that would initiate action on my part. Did he just want to inform me? Or did he think his subject line was enough? Did the guy completely miss the section in 4th grade during which we learn how to frame a letter? Nevertheless, I wrote back when I received it (a couple of hours later), explaining that I haven’t called since Christmas Eve and that then I left a real voicemail, so it probably wasn’t me; hope that helps; ~Rosie.
His response, quoted in its entirety, beginning to end: Hmmm! In any case - thanks.
And that is the last I heard from him.
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