Some people say that when two families merge and become one it is a beautiful thing, generally this is the kind of person who collects figurines of kittens and angels and babies sleeping in cabbage leaves. Personally, I strongly disagree: All families have their own Christmas traditions and when two families merge their holiday traditions, there is inevitably conflict. To this day I cringe with embarrassment when I remember the first Christmas I spent with my partner’s family.
It’s all a matter of tradition. In my huge family we draw names for a gift exchange: we cap each gift at $25, and each person gets to open exactly one present. This system allows us to open the gifts rapidly so we can get to what is always our priority: Eating. Not so in my partner’s reserved and restrained family of New England WASPs. To start, his family consists of just his parents, Duckie and Charles, and Louis, his older, unmarried brother: no cousins, in-laws, nieces or nephews. Duckie’s house is decorated with all the charm of a Puritan jail: there is a wreath on the front door and a tiny, fake tree on an end table. Their traditional Christmas dinner comes from Boston Market.
Unfortunately, my partner neglected to tell me that because there are so few of them, the family’s habit is to buy each other literally dozens of small gifts, which they call “stocking stuffers” and I call “cheap Christmas trash.” I did not realize that this was their tradition until Christmas Day, when I went downstairs and saw piles and piles of wrapped presents. “Who else is coming?” I asked my partner. “Just us,” he said happily, “we like to open lots of presents.” I was immediately at a disadvantage; I had come from Florida with exactly three gifts: a beautiful Waterford crystal bowl for Duckie, a shirt for his Charles and a sweater for Louis.
Aftera hearty breakfast of toast it was time to open the gifts. The first thing I unwrapped from his parents was a potholder. This was followed by a pepper mill, a set of serving spoons and a frying pan. Subsequent gifts included a potato peeler, a vegetable steamer, a cookie sheet, a cheese knife and, mystifyingly, a hairbrush.
Meanwhile my partner was opening his gifts, which included a set of screwdrivers and a pair of pliers. He then received a flashlight, an electric drill, a tape measure, some anchor bolts, a hammer and some sandpaper. His last gift was a blow dryer. I was trying desperately not to read some deeper meaning into these gifts, but I could not help but think that while I cooked dinner and he remodeled the house our hair would look great.
I handed Duckie the one gift I had brought her from Florida, explaining that in my family we buy just one gift per person. Duckie and Charles exchanged glances, as though their most dire expectations had come true. Duckie unwrapped the crystal bowl and set it on the coffee table, where everyone looked at it as though expecting it to perform tricks. “How nice,” she said.
In a kind of stupor I watched as his mother took the bowl into the kitchen, filled it with cat food and put it on the floor. “How nice,” echoed Charles. “Real nice,” agreed Louis. I nodded mutely.
An awkward silence persisted until dinnertime, when, with unaccustomed enthusiasm, I offered to go to Boston Market and buy dinner for the family. “It’s my gift to you all,” I said wildly. Duckie beamed: “Get lots of stuffing,” she said. “It’s a tradition!”
“How nice,” I said, and escaping into the frosty night, I drove to Boston Market.