A Miles Family Christmas
It seems like every family has their own quirky Christmas traditions. Some make gingerbread houses, go caroling, or hide pickle-shaped ornaments in their tree. I had a friend once who every year would put on a funny little beanie atop his head, light a bunch of candles, and spin a wooden top. Seemed like a pretty stupid way to celebrate the birth of Jesus Christ if you ask me, but to each his own.
In the Miles household, we are definitely no different. We have our own time honored traditions that date back as far as I can remember. In our house, there is always the annual Christmas tree hunt, long drives around decorated streets, and watching The Omen I on Christmas Eve. These are all swell, but they could never live up to our most cherished ritual – the one of ruining Christmas.
Ruining Christmas began in my early childhood. In those days it could have been anything. Calling each other names at the dinner table…breaking a well-loved ornament…suggesting that it would be more symbolic if they served jelly doughnuts instead of bread wafers at holy communion…any one of these could set my holiday-weary mother off. In a quick rage, she would turn around, look you dead in the eye, and scream “That’s IT! YOU RUINED CHRISTMAS!”
It happened so often that it became legendary. I could knock over a glass of lemonade in mid July, and my brother would whisper “you ruined Christmas.” I could be on the phone with my friend in March, and upon hearing yelling in the background, they might ask me “who just ruined Christmas?”
While the term is used pretty liberally, to actually ruin Christmas you have to abide by some strict guidelines. First I should note that my mother alone can decide who ruined Christmas. I should also note that my brothers and I could all potentially ruin Christmas any number of times during the holiday season. However, he who ruined it closest to Christmas morning was crowned victor.
As I mentioned above, ruining Christmas started off small, but as my brothers and I got older, we started finding bigger and better ways to destroy seasonal joy. None of us ever thought we could top last year’s winner. Working at Nordstrom over my winter break, my mom gave me a large wad of cash and asked me to pick some stuff after work. My brother Matt was to join me so that he and I could finish up the last bit of our holiday shopping. When he arrived, I noticed that something was a little off with his behavior. The rosy cheeks, the slurred speech, the high-fiving strangers - he was drunk. While he molested the mannequin in Hosiery, I quickly purchased the items my mother requested and called it an early night. As punishment for embarrassing me, I made Matt carry the bag to the car. As I got into my car, Matt yelled “Look at me!” All I could see was his exposed ass cheeks and piss spraying against my car. I screamed at him and he slowly pulled up his pants and got into the car.
When we returned home, my mother immediately asked me for the presents I had picked up for her. She had been anxious giving me the money, but I had assured it would be fine. I asked Matt if he had brought them in. He hadn’t. I looked in the car, and found nothing. To make a long story short – while relieving himself, Matt had put the bag on top of the car, but forgotten to take it off. $500 worth of Christmas presents riding on top of my moving vehicle, like of one of those assholes on Jackass. I returned to the parking lot to find a few packages still mildly intact, but most of it was gone. Needless to say, Matt ruined Christmas.
This year was my turn. My first night back, I decided to meet up with some friends at a nearby restaurant. It was dark and raining, and my mother asked me not to go. “It’s dangerous out, and you’re, well, you’re a terrible driver” she said. “Shut the fuck up!” I replied. “I’ll be fine”.
It was about ten minutes later when I plowed into unmarked van packed with Hispanic men.
In my defense, it wasn’t completely my fault. While, yes, the Mexicans were stopped in the proper lane at a red light…my breaks went out. Completely out. As I rounded the corner going full speed on wet asphalt, I pressed the breaks down again, and again, and again with no result. I did the only thing I could think to do…scream like a woman and prepare for impact. It felt like I was moving in slow motion as I ripped into the side of their car, but I swear to you that the only thought that went through my head….
I just ruined Christmas.
Thankfully no one was seriously hurt. I had smacked my face pretty hard and hurt my shoulder, but unfortunately it left no physical scars or bruises I could use to win some sympathy. To make matters worse, my dad had picked me up in that car that morning. Driving home he told me “My old Saturn just died. We’re on a real tight budget right now, so I don’t have enough money to fix it up. I’ve been using this car to get back and forth to work everyday, so let’s pray it holds up through the winter” To make matters even WORSE, Matt’s car died two days later. My entire family was reduced to owning one car.
My parents assured me that I did not ruin Christmas, and that they were just thankful I was okay – but looking at their faces as we all piled into the 4 seater, I knew they were lying. I secluded myself into my room, afraid that leaving my bed would cause me to crash something else. Occasionally, whenever I heard a loud bang or people yelling I would poke my head out and say “ruin Christmas?!?”
My dad would respond “No. No one ruined Christmas. That was just the TV.”
Ruining Christmas aside, the rest of my break was pretty solid. I do love the holidays, even when I destroy them. I just hope next year TJ does something really fucked up…because that my friends...
In the Miles household, we are definitely no different. We have our own time honored traditions that date back as far as I can remember. In our house, there is always the annual Christmas tree hunt, long drives around decorated streets, and watching The Omen I on Christmas Eve. These are all swell, but they could never live up to our most cherished ritual – the one of ruining Christmas.
Ruining Christmas began in my early childhood. In those days it could have been anything. Calling each other names at the dinner table…breaking a well-loved ornament…suggesting that it would be more symbolic if they served jelly doughnuts instead of bread wafers at holy communion…any one of these could set my holiday-weary mother off. In a quick rage, she would turn around, look you dead in the eye, and scream “That’s IT! YOU RUINED CHRISTMAS!”
It happened so often that it became legendary. I could knock over a glass of lemonade in mid July, and my brother would whisper “you ruined Christmas.” I could be on the phone with my friend in March, and upon hearing yelling in the background, they might ask me “who just ruined Christmas?”
While the term is used pretty liberally, to actually ruin Christmas you have to abide by some strict guidelines. First I should note that my mother alone can decide who ruined Christmas. I should also note that my brothers and I could all potentially ruin Christmas any number of times during the holiday season. However, he who ruined it closest to Christmas morning was crowned victor.
As I mentioned above, ruining Christmas started off small, but as my brothers and I got older, we started finding bigger and better ways to destroy seasonal joy. None of us ever thought we could top last year’s winner. Working at Nordstrom over my winter break, my mom gave me a large wad of cash and asked me to pick some stuff after work. My brother Matt was to join me so that he and I could finish up the last bit of our holiday shopping. When he arrived, I noticed that something was a little off with his behavior. The rosy cheeks, the slurred speech, the high-fiving strangers - he was drunk. While he molested the mannequin in Hosiery, I quickly purchased the items my mother requested and called it an early night. As punishment for embarrassing me, I made Matt carry the bag to the car. As I got into my car, Matt yelled “Look at me!” All I could see was his exposed ass cheeks and piss spraying against my car. I screamed at him and he slowly pulled up his pants and got into the car.
When we returned home, my mother immediately asked me for the presents I had picked up for her. She had been anxious giving me the money, but I had assured it would be fine. I asked Matt if he had brought them in. He hadn’t. I looked in the car, and found nothing. To make a long story short – while relieving himself, Matt had put the bag on top of the car, but forgotten to take it off. $500 worth of Christmas presents riding on top of my moving vehicle, like of one of those assholes on Jackass. I returned to the parking lot to find a few packages still mildly intact, but most of it was gone. Needless to say, Matt ruined Christmas.
This year was my turn. My first night back, I decided to meet up with some friends at a nearby restaurant. It was dark and raining, and my mother asked me not to go. “It’s dangerous out, and you’re, well, you’re a terrible driver” she said. “Shut the fuck up!” I replied. “I’ll be fine”.
It was about ten minutes later when I plowed into unmarked van packed with Hispanic men.
In my defense, it wasn’t completely my fault. While, yes, the Mexicans were stopped in the proper lane at a red light…my breaks went out. Completely out. As I rounded the corner going full speed on wet asphalt, I pressed the breaks down again, and again, and again with no result. I did the only thing I could think to do…scream like a woman and prepare for impact. It felt like I was moving in slow motion as I ripped into the side of their car, but I swear to you that the only thought that went through my head….
I just ruined Christmas.
Thankfully no one was seriously hurt. I had smacked my face pretty hard and hurt my shoulder, but unfortunately it left no physical scars or bruises I could use to win some sympathy. To make matters worse, my dad had picked me up in that car that morning. Driving home he told me “My old Saturn just died. We’re on a real tight budget right now, so I don’t have enough money to fix it up. I’ve been using this car to get back and forth to work everyday, so let’s pray it holds up through the winter” To make matters even WORSE, Matt’s car died two days later. My entire family was reduced to owning one car.
My parents assured me that I did not ruin Christmas, and that they were just thankful I was okay – but looking at their faces as we all piled into the 4 seater, I knew they were lying. I secluded myself into my room, afraid that leaving my bed would cause me to crash something else. Occasionally, whenever I heard a loud bang or people yelling I would poke my head out and say “ruin Christmas?!?”
My dad would respond “No. No one ruined Christmas. That was just the TV.”
Ruining Christmas aside, the rest of my break was pretty solid. I do love the holidays, even when I destroy them. I just hope next year TJ does something really fucked up…because that my friends...
That’s what Christmas is all about.
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