I sent my older siblings the paragraph about them from my post, and I thought you all might enjoy the response I got from my sister:
Happy Thanksgiving to you, too! I was invited to John’s, and he showed me your email and said isn’t that nice? And then he said he remembered that too, the excitement of coming home, and then he said, “and half the time you were pissed!” I said OMG, I remember that! I was! I would be so excited to come home and see everybody and I would be all warm jelly when I got off the plane, and I’d see everyone greeting each other, and I’m smiling, waiting, walking, and then realize there’s no one at the plane anxious to hug poor me. I’d have to walk down to the baggage area, find my bags, pull them out to the curb and wait, generally in the cold, while Mom or Dad circled the airport until they saw me. Too much trouble, or too cheap, to park. All my warm jelly was gone, and I felt very un-special, and pissed again. Like Charlie Brown with the football, I never seemed to modify my expectations and every holiday I’d stick out my chin again! It’s hilarious that John remembered me being pissed! When you guys were old enough to drive, though, I always got the royal treatment, and later you’d bring your kids, and those were extra special homecomings that absolutely delighted me. You trained your kids to anticipate Aunt Dale with joy and it has been my greatest joy to love them.
13 comments:
Some people only remember the slights. A rare few only remember the good. Your sister is in the vast majority that remember both, but she leans to the good side, a glass half full.
Darcy, your sister sounds like a wonderful woman, something that appears to be a genetic trait in your family.
While I was thinking about what she wrote in her message to you, I was also thinking about how much of holiday celebration is waiting. Waiting to be picked up at the airport, waiting in the checkout line, waiting for a parking space, waiting for a hug, waiting for dessert.
And what I thought is "don't wait to tell others your holiday stories; the chance may be gone next year."
Thanks for sharing that story.
If we all are so inclined, the Twelve Days of Christmas would be a good time to post a rembrance.
The emotions run along those same lines at our thanks giving too.
The holidays are not the holidays without a little.. pissed off.
When I got impatient at Holiday time, I always asked the same question: "How long until we eat?"
Home, where my love lies waiting silently for me.
When you are a young adult you think back on holidays of yesteryear and remember nonstop fun and happy anticipation. Partly this is due to rose-colored rear view mirror heavily influenced by holiday marketing and music and partly this is true (unless you were an orphan or something). Things change when you get to be an adult. The parent doesn't come into the airport to get you. They might even make you take the fucking bus into the fucking city where you have to change lines just to get out to where it's fucking convenient to collect you so they don't have to schlep through fucking holiday shopping traffic. Nerve. You're expected to think ahead and get "real" gifts for everyone. You're expected to cook stuff for the feast and not just stand around the kitchen hoping for something tasty to drop on the floor, like we already have a dog for that ya dumbass. You're expected to have some significant achievement to report over the past year so you don't shame the family. Etc.
So there's this "lowered expectations" holiday realization that sets in after several years of severe and totally unreasonable disappointment. It then dawns on you that it applies to every day of the year. At this point you transition from young adult to actual adult.
Once again, lovely, Darcy.
I like that she had forgotten, and that John had remembered, but without rancor.
Good family.
Oh no! We tend to do the "driving around the airport" thing. Though if I were picking up an elderly relative I'd certainly park.
Do airports even have a good reception area anymore? You can't see people off, that's for sure.
OMG Amartel!
:)
I wanna be a young adult. It just sounds a lot better, and if I understand Amartel, I do have a choice.
What's for dinner?
In my family "young adult" = slow learner. It was not optional unless you had a high tolerance for barely concealed disdain and outright taunting.
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