The holiday season had always been strange in Marty’s family, and this year would be no exception. In the past, on the day after Thanksgiving, G.O.D. would make them all go “as a family” to Union Square in the city, and join the crush of people looking at the elaborate displays in stores such as Gump’s or Podesta & Baldacci. The kids hated the forced excursion, and did the best to entertain themselves. Marty suggested a game where the three of them would stand on a busy corner and look up excitedly, pointing at some random building and saying, “Look, he’s going to jump! Up there!” The people around them waiting for the light to change would crane their necks to see, and others would wonder what everyone was looking at so they too would look up, until a whole crowd of people was gazing up at nothing like spectators at an air show. Then the kids would step back and watch to see how long it would continue. The chain reaction of pointless rubbernecking would sometimes last 2 or 3 light cycles.
Or, inside a crowded department store, Julie would pick out someone shopping alone, and the three bored tricksters would shadow their every move. All of them deliberately invaded the shopper’s space, handling nearby merchandise roughly and talking excitedly in a made-up language, as if other people weren’t even there. Some would get irritated with their closeness and move away, only to be followed by the annoying brats. If anyone looked at them angrily, they were ignored. If spoken to, they’d just smile and shrug as if they didn’t speak English. The trick was never to laugh. One man tried to report them to an employee, but the store was too busy to do anything, so they followed him all the way to the exit and waved through the window as he left. The creepy foreign children strike again! Finally they cracked up, and picked out another victim.
After G.O.D. marched them up and down Union Square, he would barely participate in the holidays except to boss everyone around as usual. Trimming the Christmas tree was an ordeal that Marge and the kids tried to do when he was absent, but he always inspected their work at his first opportunity, and if the decorations were not placed to his exacting standards, the kids were forced to do it over. The ornaments must be hung on outward facing branches, and never on the light cords! The tinsel must be evenly distributed, with between 10-12 strands per group to achieve a festive effect! Then, on Christmas Eve, he used to get tipsy and goad them into singing their assigned carols into a tape recorder. These were sung reluctantly, supposedly to send to their grandparents, but they never turned out to be good enough for distribution. Julie sang It Came upon the Midnight Clear with a surly lack of volume. Marty droned We Three Kings off key, and deliberately changed the lyrics to see if the producer would catch it. (He always did.) By the time Susie was confronted with Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer, she was so terrified of her father’s foul mood that she forgot the words and started to cry. Marge always tried to protect Susie, the way a mama bird distracts a predator, and he always took the bait and attacked her instead. The children snuck away and snuggled discreetly in their beds, with visions of sour grapes instead of sugar plums dancing in their heads.
On Christmas morning, the Whites were probably the only kids in America that tried to sleep in. Good Ol’ Dad would roust them out of bed like a Drill Sergeant, and hustle them all downstairs to… take pictures. They were strictly forbidden to open any presents until after a formal breakfast, which was more like attending a funeral than a meal. Marge went out of her way to make it delicious and festive, but the kids were too despondent to enjoy it. Through the kitchen window they could see other kids outside on the street, riding their new bikes or playing with new toys, while they were forced to help their mom clear the table and load the dishwasher before finally getting to open any presents. The gifts were formally distributed by a jealous deity – one at a time, from oldest to youngest, and each had to wait their turn. Clothes had to be tried on, and more pictures taken, before proceeding to the next package. Whenever Marty got toys, he put on a falsely excited expression like the kids on TV commercials, but nobody was allowed to play with anything until all the gifts were opened. All the wrapping paper had to be folded (not crumpled up) so it could be reused the following year. Bows and ribbons were inspected for damage and carefully preserved, as well. The area around the tree had to be clean, and all the new gifts put away before the kids could go out to play. By that time they were having no fun at all, and looking forward to when the holidays were over so G.O.D. would go back to work and leave them alone.
After the divorce, their father had taken all the “hip” furniture with which he had formerly decorated The Forbidden Zone. Now the room was hollow and empty, except for the folding table they used for Thanksgiving. The empty space where the tree used to go, and the bare walls formerly decorated with bows, made the room appear as if the Grinch had taken everything away, leaving them with a cheerless void. Marge said they couldn’t afford a tree that year, and it looked as if they’d have to make do without one, until Jimbo the hero showed up one Saturday morning a week before Christmas with a specimen of which Charlie Brown would have been proud. It was a little lopsided, and not very tall, but it belonged to the kids, and they could decorate it any way they wanted. Rebelling gleefully against the oppression of Christmas past, they hung random toys, bows, socks – even bright plastic utensils from the kitchen – anything to violate the decorating protocol of the overthrown regime. Of course they made sure to hang all the ornaments from the wires. When that was done, they found a leftover box of tinsel and threw it messily all over the tree, to complete the non-traditional uprising. They all agreed it was the most beautiful tree they’d ever had, even though the branches couldn’t be seen.
On Christmas Eve, carols were tactfully avoided. Marge wanted to have her friends over again, but they all had other plans, so she got drunk by herself. Marty and his sisters watched a little TV, while their mom kept going into the kitchen to get this or that, and each time she returned a little more tipsy, until her speech became slurred, and all she wanted to do was hug them and weep, and apologize for how she had ruined their lives. “Aw, c’mon Mom, it wasn’t your fault,” Marty tried to console her between sobs.
“Yeah, it’s a lot better around here since dad left,” Julie offered with sincere good-riddance in her voice.
“It’s the best Christmas ever,” Susie sniffed pathetically, in a most unconvincing manner.
They helped their mom up to bed, feeling that Santa was surely going to skip their house that night. Julie and Marty were too old to believe, but Susie still wasn’t sure. After all had retired to their separate bedrooms, and the house was quiet, Marty got up and tiptoed down the hall to his mom’s room. She was snoring loudly, so he let himself in and dragged all the presents out of her closet, having already established their location on a previous reconnaissance mission. He took the bags downstairs quietly, and set up a wrapping station on the kitchen table. He used what he needed from the carefully preserved ribbons and wrapping paper that his dad always made them save, then he threw the rest away. Everything made it under the tree that night, even though Santa officially took the night off. Tired but satisfied with his work, Marty finally got to bed well after midnight.
The next morning, the kids all wanted to open their presents immediately, but Marge wasn’t up yet, so they made some eggs and toast, carried them up to her room, and surprised her with a cheery round of “We Wish You a Merry Christmas” and breakfast in bed. She was severely hung over but ever so grateful, and then started to cry again because she had forgotten about the presents. “Don’t worry, it’s all right, Santa came and took care of everything,” Marty said reassuringly, and Julie got her out of bed and helped her down the stairs. She was holding her head and moaning about being dizzy, but when she saw the little tree with all the presents, she broke into a huge smile and a gave a round of big hugs and smooches. At long last, the White children got to act like normal kids on Christmas morning, and they tore into those presents like a starving refugee family. Bits of torn paper flew in a ticker-tape frenzy, never to be used again. Bows were crumpled carelessly, and thrown in the trash. It was a great catharsis, even though it didn’t last very long, because there were a lot fewer presents than in years past.
After their mom made her excuses and returned to bed, they cleaned up the mess in the kitchen, but intentionally left the living room a disaster area. They had to hurry to wash up and be ready by noon, when G.O.D. was expected to make an appearance. Besides, Marty couldn’t wait to see the expression on his face when he saw the glorious icons of the revolution: the crooked Christmas tree with its crazy ornaments and tinsel covering, surrounded by the wanton destruction of ‘perfectly good’ wrapping paper. He arrived on time (of course), but refused to step foot in the house. Like a spurned child, he didn’t want to see anything having to do with the lives outside the sphere of his influence. When the three kids opened the door, he was already walking back to his car briskly, waving at them to hurry up, and casting a terse “Merry Christmas” over his shoulder. He had a talent for making them feel like they were utterly wasting his time. Marty was surprised to see a different car at the curb. It looked like a Volkswagen bug, but was lower and sleeker.
“What is this?” Julie asked, with genuine interest. She liked sporty cars, because they were usually driven by sporty boys.
“It’s a 1964 Porsche SC,” he replied with sanctimonious pride, folding down the passenger seat and gesturing for Marty and Susie to get in the back. There wasn’t any real back seat – just a sort of storage area with towels and several pairs of golf shoes. They squatted down on top of those as best they could, and grabbed on to the backs of the seats. The car had a racy-looking interior, and was very low to the ground. When it started up, it was noisy the way a sports car should be, and as they pulled away from the curb Marty waved gaily at some of the neighborhood kids who were playing with their new toys outside, making them wonder if he had gotten a new car as a Christmas present.
G.O.D. drove them to his apartment in Greenbrae, which was on the water and very modern in appearance. All the familiar furniture was there, arranged to suit his basic needs for eating, sorting through coins, and playing his records. For once, he let the children sit on towels he had placed on the snow-white couches that formerly occupied The Forbidden Zone. His model railroad and geodesic dome projects were set up in the corners, but were covered with plastic. There were a couple of sorry-looking plants and a new TV that appeared to have come straight out of the Jetsons. The carpet was long green shag, to match the avocado countertops in the kitchen. Even his refrigerator was green. Marty couldn’t resist an ironic smile, and started humming the song to The Grinch That Stole Christmas. Julie understood right away, and tried to suppress a snicker. Susie was concentrating on not breaking anything, or doing anything that might get her in trouble, like breathing. Good Ol’ Dad heard the snickering, and impaled his kids with irritation over his bifocals. He guessed rightly that they were mocking his new bachelor pad. “I don’t have anyone to clean up after me here,” he sniffed sternly, and that was the only thing he said to acknowledge that this year was any different from past Christmases. “Here are your presents.” He looked at his watch. In turn, each child opened the boxes surgically, making sure to save the wrapping paper, and tried their best to look happy with his idea of what they should be wearing. Marty’s new golf sweater was scratchy, and too tight around the collar because he had grown some that year, but all his father said was, “Your hair is getting too long.”
“I’m hungry,” Julie said to change the subject, hoping he might take them back home.
He stood up and checked his watch again. “Tell you what – let’s go have Christmas dinner out,” he said expansively, and what a pleasant surprise! The kids eagerly wedged themselves into his tiny car, excited about the prospect of their first Christmas dinner in a restaurant. So then he took them to Denny’s. Seriously. That was not just his choice for a festive Yuletide feast – Marty learned later it was the only place he ever ate out. He knew all the waitresses by name, and Janice, the unfortunate one who waited on their table, made a fuss over the kids. Much to their amusement, she teased their dad sassily as if he, too, was a child, and they tried to hide their smiles behind the menus but failed. Suspicious that he was the butt of some unknown joke, he testily ordered “the usual.” Marty ordered the Grand Slam breakfast.
“You’re having breakfast at 3:00 in the afternoon?” Good Ol’ Dad asked with annoyance, as if he could not conceive the impertinence of a child who would eat a meal at the wrong time of the day.
“We serve breakfast 24 hours,” Janice said with a wink, and his eyes drilled holes in her as if she had questioned his authority.
“I’ll just have a salad,” Julie said disinterestedly, due to her recent obsession with her figure.
“Can I have pancakes?” Susie ventured timidly, now that her brother had broken the seal on the breakfast commandments. G.O.D. flipped his menu to Janice and said in an exasperated tone, “Just give them whatever they want.”
“I’ll have onion rings on the side, please.” Marty was really pushing his luck.
The tacky but memorable Christmas dinner proceeded with a predictable lack of conversation, except when G.O.D. called Janice over to complain about his steak. “You know I always have my steak medium, and this is medium rare,” he insisted.
“I’m sorry, we have a new cook; I’ll get you another.” Janice seemed to realize she was being punished for her insubordinate behavior, and she didn’t like it. As usually happened when he was angry with someone, G.O.D. was stimulated by her nervousness and wouldn’t let her get off that easily.
“No, don’t take it – I want you to see this.” He cut a slice. “You see that blood?” There was no blood. “You see that redness there?” That’s medium rare. I want this steak cooked right! Do you think you can do your job and communicate to the kitchen what the customer wants?”
Janice looked like she wanted to cry. “I’m sorry, sir,” the politeness was very strained. “I’ll get you another steak right away.” She was turning red, and Grinchy Ol’ Dad seemed grimly satisfied that he had gotten under her armor and driven his point home. Three terminally embarrassed kids were slumping lower and lower in the booth, trying to make like gum and hide under the table.
“Sit up, all of you for God’s sake,” he barked at them. “It’s Christmas!”