Families Are Like Opinions

With wars, recession and a sleigh-full of uncertainty, holiday spirit has been in short supply this year. Each night, the inflatable Homer Simpson as Santa comes to life in my neighborhood, but the grim sense that a larger and more menacing inflatable Mr. Burns is just around the corner is never too far away.

For just about as long as I can remember, the holidays have made me a nervous wreck.

We had the tree and the stockings, the presents and the toys, but the centerpiece of every Christmas was the dinner. Because we lived in a small house, our family always went either to the home of my aunt’s family or to that of my uncle. So instead of the anticipatory preparation of turkey and fixings, there was the dread associated with getting into scratchy clothes and snow boots for the drive to dinner.

My parents were of the cocktail generation and so once the coats were hung up and the “what did you get for Christmas-es” were dispensed with, the kids were dispatched to the television room not to return until dinner was served. My father was fond of saying that “children should be seen and not heard” and so we quickly learned our roles at these gatherings.

All of the cousins were just enough older than either my brother or me that we never had all that much in common to talk about. At these gatherings we would still be sitting at the kids table while they were able to sit with the adults.

Among my clearest memories about these gatherings was the laughter. The meal would begin with an old English tradition of opening Christmas crackers. These are tube-shaped paper novelties that contain a paper cap, a small toy such as used to be included in Cracker Jack boxes, a paper hat, and a piece of paper with a merry joke or riddle. (“Q: How do you stop a charging rhino? A: Take away his credit card.”)

Once the multi-colored paper hats were in place, the adults table would take turns reading their joke over the sharp-tongued critiques of the others. A small laugh initiated by the old joke would become a belly laugh when “topped” with some sarcastic remark about the joke teller, or some reference to an incident from the past that cast them in a bad or embarrassing light.

The challenge for anyone wishing to join in the conversation was that they had to be loud enough to seize any gap in the conversation and they had to be funny. And once you had everyone’s attention, there was no room for any kind of uncertainty. You either had something to say, or you didn’t and if you fumbled then that only provided more grist for the comedy mill.

It was kind of like the celebrity roasts that show up on television from time to time. There was not as much bleeping, but the tone was the same. It was not an environment for the faint of heart. Bringing an outsider to the table was a real test of the strength of your relationship. If they came back, it was a sign of the promise of the relationship and if they participated in the comedic free-fire zone and were funny then that was a whole different ballgame.

From my vantage point at the kids table, my cousins all seemed really smart. They could give just as well, or better, than they got, they were laser-accurate in their observations and they all seemed to enjoy the game. They made it seem effortless and like something you would want to be a part of.

By the time I was old enough to sit at the adults table, many of my cousins were no longer coming home for the holidays and I discovered that I had neither the confidence nor the ability to participate in the conversation.

There’s another old riddle that goes, “What’s the secret of comed--? Timing!”

If I have any skill telling a joke—a question frequently debated—it was hard-earned. Even reading the lame Christmas cracker riddles, it was far too easy to misplace the emphasis and lose the joke. And when I did, my loving family was right there to point it out. (Perhaps I should have read more into the fact that those paper hats never fit me....)

As children, we only ever know what we know and so we don’t often have the luxury of seeing our situation for what it is. Often it takes an outsider to tell you that you are having a hard time, or that your environment is toxic. The work I do now is based on this idea.

Still, family is complicated. It’s not destiny—we’re not all doomed to be just like our parents, cousins, etc.—but it is complicated. It’s years later and I don’t go home as much as I used to. I’m not as close to my family as I would like to think but if I don’t go home, I don’t have any relationship with them at all.

Families are like opinions: everybody’s got one and everyone thinks their’s is the most screwed up. There’s no question that some are better than others, but there’s help available to work on those relationships, or how you respond to them. Mental Health America exists to connect people with resources to improve their mental health, including their family ties. If we can help you, please give us a call.

Please accept my best wishes for a safe and healthy holiday season.

--Graham Campbell
Associate Director