Fast forward 27 years. My son is a baby, my daughter is going on 5, my brother’s daughter is 4, my Mom’s cancer is not on the horizon, law school is finally going well. It’s Christmas and I have dragged my wife and kids to my brother’s house. My sister-in-law’s parents are planning to dress up the old man like Santa to delight the children, my Mom bristles and starts to say something.
“Mom! No.”
Everyone looks at me.
“No, no. no! Shut up, god damn you.” I am trembling with rage but haven’t yet flipped my lid.
My Mom scans my face, deciding. Then she smirks and protest, “I just can’t be part of a lie.”
Button pressed , I reliably flip my lid. “Truth and lies? Fuck. You.” Hard K sound, just like my Dad. My Mom is delighted to throw in another sarcastic jibe
“See how stressful it is? The truth is just better. ‘
I stand up and take a menacing step. My brother stands up to step between me and her. I look at him and I stop. Stand up straight with fist clenched and dig deep.
” The truth is, Mom, is that you are just vain and lonely and bitter. “
This is the snapshot moment. Like many, I have a memory album filled with family gatherings where festering acrimony seeps out and threatens to make every holiday the “worst ever”
But my sister-in-law intervened. After all, it was her Dad, affectionately known as Pop-pop who was dressing up like Santa. She wasn’t about to let my in-laws and their bullshit ruin her thing.
“This isn’t something you are a part of. Don’t ruin my the family tradition for my kids, Gran”
And there it was. The powerful hurtful truth. I watched it burn as it sunk in. But my Mom was tough and hardened from a lifetime of hurtful truths. She stood up straight as an ancient Greek statue of virtue and affected a haughty look, stolen from the mask that her mother had worn. Then she left without a word.
Finial grade: C-
...All my darkest hours talking like this... 