The Doctor is In
Christmas Day is almost here. Are you fucking ready?! My dad thinks that I'm supposed to be all growns up now and I shouldn't need presents. Pfft, I say! I need presents now more than ever! Where's my new Crayola caddy? My walkman, my record albums, a photography book about the golden age of Hollywood! Where are my bunny slippers! And what's that huge box behind the Christmas tree covered with a sheet? Is that for me? Is it a bike? A stereo? A robot?! No, none of that. Because I am an adult. I AM AN ADULT. Now, I watch my niece and nephew tear the wrapping paper off of their presents like little drunken lunatics while I stuff handfuls of mini-peanut butter cups and Hershey's kisses into my mouth. I hold my brand new $50 savings bond in my lap as though it were actually the puppy I'd always wanted, and I stuff my present-envy down my throat along with the chocolates.
What remains is the ritual. I have to have the ritual. I have to go to my dad's house in Boston and I have to have a tree and also the special dinner. The dinner is basically the same as Thanksgiving dinner, but with ham instead of turkey, and without the two different kinds of cranberry sauce (one with real cranberries and then straight from the can). For years growing up, and even after I graduated from college and moved to New York, my dad and I would spend the night before Christmas decorating the tree while his big, meddling, manic partner made dinner. She would occasionally call out from the kitchen, saying things like, "Oh! Look at that! Tree looks great so far!" with her New Jersey accent and her Eeyore-ish voice. But she would say it so suddenly and so loud it would startle us, and I would think, shut up and mind your own business! Once when I was little, (she's been around a long time) I told her the joke about the difference between garbage and girls from New Jersey, the punchline of which is "garbage gets picked up." She is from Paramus. She laughed, but I don't think she thought it was funny ultimately. Anyway, this was our thing, me and my dad. It made Christmas Christmas. We always did it the night before so that we could keep the tree up longer. But also, we always save everything until the last minute. The one time I missed this ritual was in 1989. I went over to my boyfriend's house, telling my dad I would be back in time to decorate the tree we'd put up that afternoon. I didn't come home until late that night because I was having teen sex, and the tree had already been decorated. I felt horrible. Not just because I wanted to do it, but because my dad did our thing alone.
Dad doesn't go out and get a tree anymore because he's old and he's had lots of health issues and it's just too much trouble. And he doesn't seem to get excited about all that much anymore. So this year I found a replica of the Charlie Brown Christmas tree and I had it sent to him. He called me the day the package arrived. He hadn't opened it yet. "Open it!" I said. Then silence. I was about to say hello when I heard rustling in the background. It took me a minute to realize he hadn't hung up, but that he'd put the phone down so he could have his hands free to open the box. It's funny that he didn't say okay or hold on or anything. Man of few words, my dad. He wrestled with the package, and then I heard him chuckle. He picked the phone back up and started reading the description of the tree word for word. "'This tree needs you.' That's great," He laughed. "Charlie Brown."
