The Uninvited Guest

No matter the holiday, I am the uninvited guest at every family gathering that everyone works so hard to ignore. No one offers me eggnog or a slice of pumpkin pie. There is never an official seat for me at any table. Nor is there a present with my name on it under the tree. 

I don’t take it personally. I get it. I make people uneasy. Granted, part of the fun is watching their discomfort as they twist themselves into a bow, trying to avoid me, the elephant in the room.

There are so many reasons why I can show up at your party. One of my personal favorites is politics. I can feast like royalty on this topic, as there are many potential landmines. Add to the fact that this past year was an election year in the United States. I’m salivating at the prospects.

Take the Rodriguez family, for example. The dad upset his three daughters when he greeted them wearing a MAGA hat for Thanksgiving. The daughters tried to keep their cool even as their father raged against wokeism. It wasn’t until Mr. Rodriguez talked about how their family represents the best in Latino families because they immigrated legally that the daughters’ patience broke as if it were a wishbone. 

Oh, the wonderful memories. And Christmas promises to be just as explosive as Mr. Rodriguez puts a Trump bobblehead in each of his daughter’s stockings. He is a pot-stirrer and a man after my own heart. 

Since I am fair and balanced, unlike today’s mainstream media, it isn’t just liberal families that have to show restraint with their conservative relatives. For example, Michael Williams turned 19 in October and was excited to finally vote for president. Even though he comes from a liberal household, his dad was a former Democratic state senator; he was disillusioned with how Biden handled the economy. Could not bring himself to vote for Kamala Harris. Instead, he voted for Donald J. Trump. 

Michael hasn’t told anyone yet. He decided to skip going home for Thanksgiving to avoid the issue, but he couldn’t run away forever. He is currently in knots, wondering how he will stay silent when his family talks as if Democrats have the solution. And heaven forbid if someone brings up how Biden was justified in pardoning his son. He is a ticking time bomb ready to explode, and I’m all here for it. 

It isn’t just politics that will cause me to appear at your party. You roll out the red carpet anytime there is an issue you don’t want to address. I remember last year’s Boxing Day for the Smith clan. Their matriarch passed away three days earlier. The grandfather still showed up, dressed as Kris Kringle as per tradition, but there was nothing jolly about his demeanor. Instead, he sat on the couch watching reruns of Doctor Who, alone. No one knew how to handle his grief. This year, the Smith clan will not have to worry about that as the grandfather can now celebrate with his wife in Heaven. 

Sad? Yes. Is the awkwardness fun to watch? Yes!

Oh, and down the road from the Smiths, Mr. and Mrs. Song are debating whether or not to set the plate for their son’s wife. It is an open secret that their child’s marriage is on the rocks. Should they pretend like nothing is wrong? Should they act surprised when she inevitably doesn’t show up? Can they finally be open and honest about their dislike of their son’s spouse and how he made a huge mistake when he married her? 

All good questions and makes for a very entertaining evening. 

The Song’s poor son has an open secret that is causing his parents to walk on eggshells. Anytime there is a secret that must remain a secret, you are just tempting me to have a good time. As the old expression goes, secrets are the spice of life. 

One of my favorite secrets is one that Melissa Jones discovered about her seemingly perfect dad. Two weeks ago, she saw her dad leave a restaurant hand in hand with another woman. She trailed them to his car, where he gave the mysterious woman a very sloppy kiss on the lips. His hands groped at areas that would make a stripper blush. Her discovery is a burden for Melissa. She is unsure if she should confront her dad or just tell her mom what she saw. She wonders if she should say anything at all. 

The pressure Melissa is going through is enough to make a diamond from the coal her dad deserves and make their family dinner as awkward as their family portrait. This is truly the most magical time of the year. 

Of course, you all try to play nice and avoid any conflicts. You remind yourselves that it’s the holidays, so we should be on our best behavior. You pretend that I don’t exist even as my shadow looms over the dining table. 

Small talk and empty pleasantries are your tools to try to make me disappear. You put on fake smiles in hopes of discouraging me from making my presence known. Yet, I’m still here, waiting for the right moment. 

I look for those who are struggling to keep it together to drink. I whisper that they should have something stiff to drink. It doesn’t matter if some people question if they are an alcoholic. 

Drink to reduce the anxious thoughts.

Drink to numb the tension.

Drink to forget that I’m in the room.

Alcohol is a great accelerant, and so is time. Self-control is a limited resource, so the more you spend time together, the harder it is to edit yourself. 

In those moments of familiarity mixed with alcohol, that is where I prepare my entrance. It doesn’t take much.

One joke...

One off-handed remark...

One unfiltered response...

And BOOM! I crash onto the scene with such force that it reverberates throughout the room. My weight causes a blast that changes the dynamic and makes everyone lose their balance. No matter how hard one tries to regain Christmas spirit, the night can no longer be silent.

Once my presence is finally acknowledged, all hell breaks loose. 

Voices are raised. 

Names are called. 

Tears are shed. 

And I smile. For me, this is what the holiday season is about. It isn’t about peace on earth, goodwill to all, and celebrating joy. Rather, it is about family members pushing down discomfort until it explodes into a firework show that rivals the Fourth of July. 

Could you one day get rid of me? Sure, if we learn to empathize and listen without judgment or defensiveness. But let’s be real, that ain’t happening anytime soon. 

Instead, accept the fact that I will be there in the dark corner waiting for your next holiday party. And could you do me a favor and get me one of those popcorn buckets with the three different flavors? I love munching on some popcorn while enjoying a good show.