Mandatory Family Obligations: Holiday Edition
Tips to avoid the tripwires of holiday gatherings
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With my mother at the helm. my childhood home was frequently the venue for large holiday gatherings. These events were always casual and pot-luck, but even so my mother knew these mandatory family obligations (MFOs) were laden with triggers and tripwires. Without provocation these jolly MFOs could descend into a mother-f**ing ordeal. My mother was determined to avoid this dispiriting spoiler. Below are five strategies that have undergone extensive beta-testing over decades and generations.
1. The Cocktail Hour
My mother knew that a multi-generational event could not rely on cocktails, conversation and dinner. The cocktail hour was a particular challenge for youngsters. She gave all the kids a list of items that were hidden in plain sight. Of course, once hidden, you might as well repurpose them year after year. The pennies glued to the eyes of the owl tchotchke have been there for years., as have the raisins sown into the floral pattern of the upholstery
2. Dinner Seating
My mother strove to find a balance between a fixed seating plan and the spontaneity she craved. Her solution was two hats containing paired items, passed around before dinner with the instruction “Go Forth and Find Your Match.” The pairs varied over the years. One year there were two sequential verses of a Christmas carol and you found your dinner partner by singing in search of the next warbled verse. Another year the hats contained nuts and bolts, ranging in size from teeny tiny to jumbo. Once you found your dinner partner, you went together through the buffet line and then sat together at random seats. Although I observed some black-market trading of dinner partners, this system ensured that crazy Aunt Bertha with that scary hairy mole on her cheek wouldn’t get stranded.
3. Chores
Adults always offered to help with food management, but given the melee of thirty to forty people the “how” needed structure. My mother included a chore on the inside of the folded place card. Everyone assumed the chore assigned to their seat. Chores ranged from the pedestrian “help scrape dinner plates” to more creative efforts such as “see if Grandma needs more vodka,” or “tell Aunt Bertha you like her new shoes.” She took advantage of my nephews at the peak of their heavy-lifting prowess with her chore, “Please put in the storm windows.”
4. White Elephant Exchange
“White elephant” gift exchanges are a standard holiday event, but my mother spiced up the typical scenario where gifts are opened one by one and participants decide whether to keep it or exchange it with someone else. Yawn. This was just too slow-moving for our family. She sped up the game and injected competition into the mix. All the wrapped gifts – mostly silly things, recycled gifts, novelty food items, old pictures - were placed in the center, and then everyone started rolling dice. If you rolled a “7,” “11” or “doubles” you could choose one of the gifts. After all were taken, the gifts were opened and displayed to the group.
Now the real action began. My mother would set the timer for five minutes, and we would snatch items from someone else’s pile if we rolled a “7”, “11” or “doubles.” The most fascinating part of this exercise was that inevitably one gift became the “hot” item, madly traded back and forth as the clock ticked down. One year it was a pork-pie hat, another year, for no plausible reason, it was a pair of smoked sausages. The group psychology was particularly intriguing the year the family tussled over a bunch of lottery tickets. The tension rose as we all quietly succumbed to the collective delusion that that the jackpot was at stake right here in our living room.
Of course, I knew the tickets weren’t winners, duh, but JUST IN CASE, I sure as hell was not going to let anyone win. I was not alone. Those tickets were traded with unbridled frenzy. When the buzzer went off, I was limp with exhaustion, my forehead beaded with sweat, but I was clutching the tickets. After watching this manic performance, our young son understandably assumed we had truly won the jackpot. He asked if he could help spend the money.
5. Christmas Stockings
The MFO continued on Christmas day as we gathered to open stockings. My mother filled all the stockings, a job that became unwieldy as the family grew to include in-laws and grandchildren. Her solution was to make a sweep through a few stores and then fill the stockings at random, figuring that everyone could trade later. One year Nick reached into his stocking to find a pair of panty house, while our 2-year-old daughter gnawed on a hockey puck. My brother traded away the entire contents of his stocking to secure a map of the Zodiac and several boxes of Whitman samplers. This bartering added spark, energy (and strategy) to the morning.
However, as our kids grew and I took over the reins of our family’s Christmas, I knew I needed to make some tweaks to the formula. Our teenaged kids had outgrown the whiz-bang Christmases with games and piles of gifts. One year I discovered the entire contents of our son's stocking – the gum, the Pez dispenser, toenail clippers, etc. – neatly stacked in his closet. I simply scooped everything up and repurposed it for the next Christmas. Nobody noticed.
All the kids really wanted was a Christmas check, and basically that was fine with me as long as I could recapture the energy and entertainment of prior years. Family Jeopardy was the answer. I created various categories such as “Family Pets,” with entries such as “the name of the dog that Granny ran over.” (Answer in the form of a question: Who was Fido?) I added surprising trivia gathered from secret interviews with their friends, such as “the reason you got arrested.” (Answer in the form of a question: “What is peeing in the alley behind the bar?”) I also created entries from magazines that I gave the kids to read, telling them that it might come in handy on Christmas day. I arranged the entries according to degree of difficulty, added in daily doubles and then finally got a wad of fives, tens and twenties to peel off if they “questioned” the answers correctly. “Family pets for $10, Mom.” It worked perfectly.
As I plot and plan, tweak and twist my mother’s traditions, I realize how fortunate I am to have such a gifted mentor. With her guidance, I have made sure that mandatory family obligations remain my favorite occasions.
