Thanksgiving approaches with all of it’s dread. What would be an interesting Sociological survey would be to look at suicide rates around holidays in the U.S. versus those in, say, Australia. Not that I think the Australians are better than us, far from it. You can’t trust people that hunt with sticks, no sir. But Christmas is in December. December is middle of winter here and middle of summer there. A definite correlation exists between amount of daylight one receives and depression. Plus, Australians spend most of their off time drunk, so family shouldn’t be as much of a burden.
Have you noticed that most people don’t really like their families? At least, they don’t like them all at once. For the most part I like all of my family members. Some piss me off, but hey, that’s life. But when we’re all together I just want to stab most of them in the eye. A couple of times.
Maybe it has something to do with the forced nature of holidays. Normally when I go visit my family it’s on purpose, and by my choosing. Holidays, not so much. Someone else decided that I get time off work, and I should spend it with people that share my genetics. What if I want to use that time to paint my house or learn to play banjo? No, that makes me a bastard. Thus begins the familial tension, and I haven’t even put on my shoes, yet.
Then there is the return to one’s ancestral home. Or, rather, where your parents live now, since they moved into a smaller place as soon as all of the little demons were out of their hair. A byproduct of this move is that there is no longer anywhere for a large quantity of people to sit, let alone be separated from the herd. Ahh, togetherness.
So, now you’re hot, crowded, doing something against your will, and you already have a little seasonal depression going on. What’s not to love about that scenario? Add screaming kids and stir.
To be honest I’m surprised the homicide rate doesn’t go up instead.
Tune in next time when Scratch attacks another segment of society and we all laugh at their misfortune.
Mrs. Pyro | 14-Nov-07 at 11:05 pm | Permalink
this holiday season, I am prepared to let the family suffer my awful accordion playing and to suggest that perhaps they too could pick up a paintbrush (you missed a spot, Pops. You touch it up and I’ll serenade you with the “Twinkle Twinkle, Little Star Polka” from page 6 of the level 1 accordion book.)
Elsbeth | 15-Nov-07 at 9:57 am | Permalink
Pyro-
Take some small solace in the fact that at least you will not be leaving the special hell (a.k.a. quality time with the fam) and your wifes lovely accordion playing for work. In a megaretail store. Thanksgiving night.
Stocking the shelves and breaking up the ‘Black Friday’ fights between soccer moms and weekend dads over this seasons lead painted overpriced soon to be busted and/or recalled toy all to the sounds of badly remade christmas carols that are more off beat then Vetinari’s clock. Just the thing to start off the ‘Happy Holidays’.
dave | 15-Nov-07 at 5:43 pm | Permalink
I like the fellowship of the holidays. The odd thing is I don’t ever spend it with my family, always someone elses.
Elsbeth | 20-Nov-07 at 11:43 am | Permalink
That is probably why you like the holidays - not enduring the small talk w/your own distant relations
Mrs. Pyro | 01-Dec-07 at 1:00 pm | Permalink
It was weird: after a Thanksgiving afternoon painting the house Dad, me and Pyro swung by WalMart to pick up a couple bottles of wine to go with the turkey. It was emptier than usual (which is good), but there were small herds of lost souls roaming the store. Dads with 3 normally screaming (now silent) kids in tow, people in greasy overalls quietly pondering the price of apple cider. Not that we were much better — I was wearing green-spattered overalls and boots smeared with bubble gum pink tinted primer. But at least we were rowdy. It was spooky how we were the only ones making noise…