Kathleen McCall:
Occasional�� Muse�

2001-11-21 - 10:53 a.m.

Fairy Stories

Once upon a time, Jenny and Jack had Thanksgiving with their family. "I'll help set the table," Jenny said. "I can help Father carry the fire wood," said Jack. "My, you two are good helpers today," said Mother.

And we bought this shit.

I'm hearing a lot of gratitude stuff these days, in different places, and that's neat. I'm pretty darn grateful, myself, mostly. One thing I'm grateful for is that my family was so lame around holidays that I didn't grow up with a really big charge about how holidays ought to be. I'm kind of the "whatever" school of thought.

But an awful lot of people are writing subconscious letters to the Thanksgiving Fairy. "Please, please, this year may it be the clink of my good crystal and the warmth of laughter and the perfect food and the joy of everybody pitching in on clean-up and let it be a day where everybody wants to be exactly where they are, with family, doing exactly what they're doing."

I think she can give you the crystal part, and maybe even the good food, but the myth of family - that's beyond even the Turkey Fairy.

As far as I can see, there are only two real types of family: Too Little, and Too Much. The Too Little people believe that they're doomed to Thanksgiving at friend's houses, feeling slightly fifth-wheel, or going to potlucks with other Too Littles, or sitting home with a Swanson's Turkey Special on a potholder. Or maybe they're embarrassed to ask the butcher if he has any ten-pound turkeys this year, because there's only sister Ellen and she lives too far away and wouldn't want to come anyway. They think the Too Much people have houses full of love and laughter, little Jennies and Jacks coming in and out with firewood and china, fresh flowers arriving with excited happy guests, and lots of hugs and air-kissing.

The Too Much people dream of being Too Littles, of having ducking a'lorange at an out-of-the-way place with small tables full of grateful yet sophisticated people, of simple elegance without hidden agenda, of not having to swallow anything that sticks in the throat for just one year. Because Jenny and Jack don't eat Thanksgiving food anyway and they get bored and whine, and they end up fighting with Cousin Bobby who will probably break something again, and Grandma Ruth will spend the evening eyeing the other's guests manners with great disapproval, and there isn't enough of the good crystal and china to go around and the second table is lower than the first so it looks funky. Also, Aunt Rose will tell all about the BEST turkey and the BEST pies that other people make, and Brother John will decamp with his squalling brood right after the meal which everyone will notice and comment on, and somebody will have to make snide comments about fact that Ashtarth has changed her name again and that this year she's not eating anything that's touched animal flesh. And by the end of the day the Too Muches will have cramps from smiling graciously and will be considering getting a little too deep into the post-dinner port and risking some scary family honesty - "I don't even LIKE most of you people! I'm never doing this again!"

But oddly enough, even the Too Muches who KNOW these things think that other Too Muches have it different, have charming tension-free families full of love and laughter and good will, and think that if they only make enough food they can transform their OWN families into Fairy Families like everybody else has.

The Myths of Family seem to be the strongest ones we have. We've been bending the Man as Breadwinner, and the Woman as HomeMaker, and the Heterosexual Married Couple as Parents, and a lot of the others; we pressure them and they give a little in each generation. But the Fairy Family Myth is one we're not ready to let go of yet, so we'll pass it intact to the next relay team. And then we'll have our own chance to be Grandma Rose, and say nastily, "In MY house, we never ate turkey legs with our hands."

�

previous - next

�