Christmas With the Munsters

Remember that blog post I made a few months ago, when I told you that Shannon compared my family and me to the Munsters and Marilyn? That I was the only "normal" one in the bunch (and that term was being used very lightly)?

Well, it seems my family came through again. I'll spare you all of the agonizing details -- but here's the story in a nutshell:

So we all know that my parents are two of the most dysfunctional people on the face of the planet (or at least, if you didn't know, you know now.) They have been married for 28 years, and I think somewhere in year 2, they started hating each other. I have never met 2 people who needed a divorce more. Anyway, my parents usually come over to my house for Christmas dinner. It's a "tradition" I started about 4 years ago, and it's gone relatively OK.

This year, my mom shows up with food in tow, but not my dad. She proceeds to tell me that they got into an argument that morning (Merry Christmas, everyone!) and that he is supposed to come later. Now, please picture the next couple of hours for me -- my mom continued to tell, and retell the story of the morning argument to me probably about 7 times. I am not exaggerating. She told me over and over. The amazing part in all of this is that I was surprised she expected, after all of these dysfunctional years, that he would somehow be a loving husband to her just because it was Christmas. But he wasn't. He acted like a dick. I should be surprised, why?

Well, long story short -- my dad pulled a no-show for Christmas dinner. Not that I minded. It would have been an evening filled with him dominating the conversation, spewing his particular brand of conservative-republicanism and/or Obama-bashing that I find distasteful, or him drinking a beer and my mom being all over his ass for it. OR both of them or either of them bitching at each other all evening. OR...any combination thereof. Take your pick. It would have been miserable, but we're FAMILY and that's what being a family is all about, right? We're supposed to be together, because one of us could be dead next year, or something. Not to be morbid, but for chrissake!

I don't get a phone call from my dad until the next day. I see his number on my caller ID and I let the machine pick it up, because frankly, I know that this phone call has the potential to last at least a half an hour, and with 99% of it with him doing all the talking = him bitching about how my mother mistreats him. And I wasn't in the mood for that nonsense.

I let the call go to the answering machine and he leaves his message, which I will paraphrase for your reading enjoyment: "It's Dad. Sorry I was not at Christmas, but Your Mother didn't want me to have a Merry Christmas so blah blah and more blah...." I stopped listening after that. Because it was not important to him that he missed Christmas with his family -- his non-fuck-up of a daughter and granddaughter. Oh no. It was only important that he made sure to tell me that it wasn't his fault he wasn't at Christmas dinner -- even though he is a grown man and could have driven himself over -- but that it was my mom's fault. Natch. I haven't called him back, nor do I really want to. I'll have to keep you posted.

The saddest thing of all was that he wasn't even missed. And his presents are still under my tree.