In the mid 1980’s, I flew from Santa Barbara, where I was going to college to Fresno to spend Christmas with my sister Sheila and her husband Mark. My mom was also visiting them for the holidays and she and my sister were waiting for me at my gate. It was Christmas Eve, which is my birthday, a day traditionally devoted to chaos, emotional overwhelm and anger at my parents for having conceived me in the early Spring.
I first noticed the secret whispering and laughing between my mother and Sheila at baggage claim. We were waiting for my pretentious piece of vintage luggage to hobble around the carousel, when they started leaning on each other and engaging in small little clapping fits of excitement. I asked them what was going on and my mom said: “Oh…you’ll find out. Don’t you worry.” And they laughed a little more and whispered as I pulled what was left of my 1930’s era suitcase off the conveyor belt, adjusted my top hat and monocle and headed outside.
By the time we made it to the car, I was able to glean that the whispering and laughing was in reference to a gift that I was going to receive this year, a gift that was apparently going to change my life? And not a birthday gift, mind you, but a Christmas gift, something I would have to wait until tomorrow to open. My mom had always worked really hard, mostly out of guilt I imagine, not to merge my birthday with Christmas, so that I wouldn’t receive the dreaded “Combination Gifts” as they were known, one gift for both my birthday and Christmas. Whenever people hear that my birthday is on the 24th, they always make a point of telling me how screwed I am, and how cheated I must feel, but I’ve never known it to be any different and so I don’t have anything to compare it to, to gauge how truly screwed I am, and as I said, my family always worked hard to separate the two days as best they could, in an attempt to offset this profound yuletide injustice.
Back at the house, there were gifts, there was cake and there was an almost constant reminder that the present that Santa was going to
bring me tomorrow was the greatest gift in the history of all gifts and to prepare to have my mind blown. My brother-in-law Mark had now joined in, simply nodding in agreement and saying “It’s true, man. Get ready. Goodnight!”
The next morning, was Christmas by the numbers. PJ’s, pancakes, coffee and then the traditional opening of gifts. We got our piles in front of us, and took turns, nothing out of the ordinary, it was textbook, right down the middle of Santa Claus Lane, until all the presents had been opened and then you could have cut the air with a knife…because it was time…time for The Gift. I watched as my brother-in-law shimmied beneath the Christmas tree branches and began dragging a heavy, roughly two foot tall, wrapped box that been hidden behind the tree. Mark, though not a towering figure, was fairly yoked at that time and even he was having a hard time dragging it across the floor and through all of the wrapping paper until it sat in front of me. I took a moment to reflect upon my life up to that point, because apparently in a moment, it was never going to be the same. I took a deep breath, and began to untie the ribbon and tear away the paper. The top was taped shut and after finally peeling away the packing tape, I flipped open the flaps and started pulling out bubble wrap and wads of crumpled brown butcher paper until my eyes fell upon what at first appeared to be a dull orange terracotta pot or some kind of fired clay. Looking straight down on it, I had no idea what I was looking at it. Mark came over and we both carefully lifted it up and out of the box, gently resting it on the carpet. I still had almost no idea what I was looking at, but I started to piece together that it was a sculpture of something? Was it possible that was a tail? Could it possibly be a whale’s tail? Time had more or less stopped for me at this point, but the best way I can describe what I was looking at is this:
Imagine you were traveling in a magical land, sailing on a sea of Betty Crocker frosting and you came upon a sinking ocean liner made of meat loaf, just in time to see one of the propellers slipping beneath the roiling chocolate surface…that’s what this sculpture looked like to me…a maritime meat loaf disaster in a sea of cake frosting.
Mark looked at me and asked “Honestly, what do you think?” and I knew I had to immediately lie, but my lie engines weren’t even close to being warmed up, I was being asked to lie cold, like making a vertical take-off with no warning. Normally, you have at least a few moments to prime the pump to square off and prepare to lie, but not in this case because everyone including myself was so completely convinced that I was going to be spiritually awakened by this gift. I answered Mark’s question of “Honestly, what do you think?” with the worst response possible and that response was “Honestly?” at which point, three things happened simultaneously. First, Mark, who was seated directly in front of me, gave me a look that today would be interpreted as “Dude” like “Dude…what are you thinking?” and this carried some weight because brother-in- laws are pretty practiced at telling lies together, like “Where were you guys, you were supposed to be home an hour ago?” and we’re used to saying things like “Out…we were just out, you know…out-side somewhere.” So Mark gave me that look, then off to my left, Sheila just turned into a pile of rocks in the shape of my sister, just stone cold silent frozen rocks…and off to my right, there a came a sound, like the sound a wraith makes when light and space sort of collapse around it, and it passes out of a room and through a doorway, like (sound)…that was my mother, evaporating and taking the shape of a black shadow headed toward the back patio, the only place she was allowed to smoke…whatever my mother turned into in that moment was just immediately sucked down the hallway. (sound)
Mark just shook his head and looked down and Sheila started to slowly collect all of the wrapping paper, around the tree, all that was left of an entire holiday season that I had apparently ruined with the question: “Honestly?” I was now a Christmas Criminal. This was now officially the second worst Christmas our family was forced to endure. (Of course, top prize, easily goes to the Christmas featured in Episode 2 of the Toughen Up podcast, but that’s another story)
Does the thought count? Yes! And I love them all dearly for the thought, which was based on the fact that for a number of years, in my youth, I had Whale Game…serious whale game! I was a Whale Queen. Growing up, I had posters of whales and dolphins in my room, I knew how to draw a variety of whales, I had gone whale watching and vomited a lot watching them, I read books about whales and watched television specials about them, including the Undersea World of Jacques Cousteau and had listened to his mournful, French description of them: “At 50 feet long, and fully 50 tons, the whale levels out and flies, swept winged, like a jumbo jet underwater.”I even knew that the word “Leviathan” meant whale, which impressed both young and old alike. For the longest time, I expected to grow up and become an oceanographer, not knowing that one needed to excel in either math or science or both. I even specialized for a time in Humpback whale songs, playing a 33rpm LP titled Songs of the Humpback Whale for anyone who would listen.
Like I said, when it came to whales, I had done my homework, but I was now in my second year of college, and they had no way of knowing that I had simply outgrown my obsession with the Jumbo Jets of the Sea.
Was this sculpture supposed to represent a majestic whale’s tail disappearing beneath the ocean waves? Yes. Yes it was, but let’s be honest, this was Fresno, California. At the city limits, you are not greeted to Fresno with a sign adorned with images of lighthouses and waves, but more likely images of almond trees or irrigation canals.
Could you find a kick ass sculpture of a tractor or a representation of a farmer’s hands plunging into rich fertile soil or a raisin…yes, you could there.
But, the fine citizens of Fresno…which is situated roughly 170 miles from the nearest ocean, are not exactly considered a seafaring people. It is not known as The Nantucket of the West, but is instead known for agriculture. You want a whale’s tail sculpture, you go to Cape Cod…not Cape Sod!
To add to the tragedy of it all, as I was to find out later, Sheila and Mark had discovered this sculpture years prior in the studio of a local artist, but she had refused to sell it to them, because it was one of her favorites. According to family lore, Mark hounded the artist year after year, until she finally relented. I’ve never had the nerve to ask him if he ever used the phrase “name your price” but I hope to God he didn’t, as it would reignite my still smoldering shame.
I wish so much I could have lied to them all that I loved it, and then figured out how to get it back to Santa Barbara somehow, where I could easily have sold it as a ships anchor.
Against my better judgement that Christmas morning, I eventually headed for the back patio to face the music.
My mother was standing outside in her lime cream colored bathrobe in a cloud of cigarette smoke. Her back was to me and her shoulders were hunched in judgement. I slid the sliding glass door open, loud and slow, and she turned around faster than Dracula. Two of her fingers were straight up, pinching a cigarette laying straight across the middle of them. She held me in those crosshairs as she hissed: “You have hurt a LOT of people here today.” “A LOT of people?” There were a total of four of us, three of which I may have let down, I admit…but hurt? A lot?
When I returned to the living room, the sculpture was gone, but I could see the drag marks it left in the shag carpeting. Sheila had asked Mark to put it in the closet of their bedroom, and to this day, it lives on the tile in front of their fireplace…or at least that’s where it’s put whenever I visit…a punishing reminder of my honesty. For years, Sheila would include in my birthday and Christmas gifts, anything she could find with a whale’s tail on it. Calendars, coffee cups, t-shirts…Lest I ever forget all the people I hurt that day. I may be out of holiday prison now, but forever on probation. Will I ever live this down? Apparently not in this lifetime.
But, what lesson can I share with you? What have I learned from having been a formerly convicted Christmas Criminal? Only this:
If ever, while being picked up by family members at the airport during the holidays, they start whispering and laughing and giving you looks that say: “Oh…just you wait, just you wait!”…be prepared. Be prepared to lie your Christmas morning pants off…you may not have to, but you should be very, very ready.
Happy Holidays!
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