As we head into Thanksgiving week, and Christmas is fast approaching, I’ve been hearing conversations involving people making plans for holiday gatherings. Some plans are spoken with excitement, while others are mentioned with a sense of dread about impending drama that typically occurs when family comes together for holidays and celebrations. Having grown up as an only child with a small extended family, I often feel like I’ve missed out on the social dynamic that seems to be prevalent with larger households.

I always wanted to be from a big family, with several siblings, aunts, uncles, and cousins. I especially wanted older brothers who had hot friends that would look out for me at school and make me the envy of all the other girls. I imagined myself as the annoying but cute little sister who tagged along to parties as a teenager and eventually ended up marrying my brother’s best friend. Yes, I watched a lot of 80’s teen angst comedy / love story movies when I was a kid.

Although my mom has two brothers, neither of them had children, so I don’t have any cousins on my mom’s side. My dad’s brother had one daughter, my only cousin, who is a couple years older than me. I had a very close relationship with my uncle, aunt, and cousin growing up, but they live in Utah, so I only saw them once or twice a year. When my mom married my stepdad, I inherited three stepbrothers and a stepsister, but they were all significantly older than me and never lived with us. For the most part, they were also off in different states raising their own families, and I rarely saw them except when they would visit once every few years.

Technically, I guess I do have a half-sister, but we never lived in the same home, and after my biological father died, I only saw her when she came to visit my paternal grandparents. We maintained sporadic communication for several years (mostly initiated by me), but we never had the true closeness of a sibling relationship. For reasons she never fully explained to anyone, my sister estranged herself from the rest of the family when I was in my mid-20’s, and we haven’t spoken since. Oddly, she sent me a friend request about 10 years ago when I briefly had Facebook, but we never actually connected beyond exchanging social media profiles. Looking at photos of her kids and extended family was like looking at a catalog of the lives of strangers.

As a child, I spent a lot of time with my paternal grandparents, who lived in an apartment complex for senior citizens. My most vivid memories from early childhood involve annual family gatherings when my aunt, uncle, cousin, and half-sister would be visiting. We would all be seated around the kitchen table in my grandparents’ apartment on a Sunday morning, feasting on giant bagels and perfectly whipped cream cheese with fresh lox that Grandpa would purchase from a local deli. My grandmother, “Gami,” would be constantly smiling and chattering incessantly about how much she loved having family visit. Grandpa would drum his fingers on the tabletop in irritation, roll his eyes while muttering Hebrew curse words, and frequently yell at everyone to eat over the table.

Inevitably, my half-sister (who was very emotionally sensitive) would end up in tears, my cousin would talk back with some kind of smart-ass remark, my aunt and uncle would get up and go to the guest room, and I would just sit there at the table, grinning and having a good time. Although my family members had little patience for my grandfather’s brusque antics or Gami’s refusal to acknowledge her failing eyesight, I loved it. To this day, I can still remember the times spent in their apartment more vividly than I remember the apartment I actually lived in.

When the 1992 Northridge earthquake hit in California, my grandparents’ apartment building was condemned, and they moved to another city to live with Gami’s sister. A few years later, they left California altogether and moved to Utah to live near my uncle and his family. My grandfather died several years later, and even though I tried to visit Gami once a year, as a young adult trying to figure out what to do with her life, my priorities had shifted, and I was more interested in spending time with my friends and my boyfriend than I was with family. The exception was my boyfriend’s family.

My college boyfriend was the attractive and sweet, yet completely unmotivated, stoner skater I mentioned in a previous article on manhood. I stayed with him for about five years, which was really four years longer than I should have. We had entirely different dreams and goals in life, but I was absolutely in love with his fun, crazy, outgoing Southern family. After college, my boyfriend’s mom helped me get my first full-time job, and we worked in the same office together for three years. I spent a lot of time at their house, but instead of hanging out with my boyfriend, I was usually socializing with his parents, his grandma, or his older brother.

Holidays and parties at their household would always be lively and chaotic potluck affairs, with an endless variety of delicious homemade Southern dishes and treats. There was nothing formal or austere about it. Uncles, aunts, and cousins would show up throughout the day, and it would be a loud and boisterous atmosphere. Food would be set out all day long, and when you arrived, you were expected to grab a paper plate, load it up with goodies, and either stand around talking while you ate or take a seat wherever one was available. Everyone would be laughing, making fun of each other, and cracking jokes. Even when an argument or disagreement would break out, I didn’t mind because I loved the chaos of a large family environment.

In contrast, holiday dinners with my family were far more formal and traditional affairs. More often than not, Christmas and Thanksgiving were spent with my maternal grandparents. Growing up, I was the only child in attendance, as my dad’s side of the family didn’t live in the same area, and both sides of the family rarely ever came together. My mom would break out the fancy gold leaf embossed dinnerware that we weren’t allowed to put in the dishwasher, and we would sit together at the table, in dimly lit candlelight, quietly eating while making small talk. After dinner, coffee and desert would be served, and I would head to the kitchen to start handwashing the mounds of formal dishes and multiple pots and pans. The only thing that changed as I got older was that I became more engaged in adult conversations and drank a lot of wine.

When I was married to my ex-husband, we often split holidays between his family and mine. I enjoyed having his family over or going to their house for gatherings because he had two sisters who were fun to hang out with, and I was fairly close with my mother-in-law. Inevitably, my husband would get pissed off or irritated at something his mom or youngest sister said, and we would end up leaving early if we were at their house. But just like the family events with my college ex-boyfriend, I didn’t care about the drama because I loved being around family chaos, especially on holidays and special occasions.

When I became a cop, I spent many years working both Thanksgiving and Christmas. Even after I had enough time on the job to put in for the days off, I typically volunteered to work these holidays so that my coworkers with kids could take the time off to be with their families. When I moved to Washington State, the only family I had left in California was my mom and her husband. They typically have his daughter and adult grandkids over for holidays, and my mom no longer cooks elaborate meals or breaks out the fancy gold embossed dishware. The last time I went “home” for the holidays was Christmas in 2019, before Covid sucked the joy out of flying. And now that I live in a small city where it costs three times as much to get a flight and there are no direct flight options, I try to avoid traveling during the holidays.

As for my extended family, both sets of my grandparents are deceased, and even though I maintain a text relationship with my cousin, I am no longer close with my aunt and uncle in Utah. Although they were a significant part of my life growing up, from early childhood through my mid 40’s, sadly, our once very tight family bonds became strained and eventually broken due to our differing beliefs about Covid and my refusal to get vaccinated. My uncle hasn’t spoken to me in over 2 years, and although my aunt sends occasional text messages or likes one of my animal-related Instagram posts, we never talk on the phone, and they’ve made it clear they have no desire to see me. I am still both angry and heartbroken over this, but I’m working on letting these emotions go. I can’t change someone else’s feelings or beliefs.

I know this seems like a depressing article, but that’s not my intention. I’m honestly just feeling nostalgic for the family I’ve lost and the holiday events I no longer get to take part in. The older I get, the more I look back on these times and wish I still got to experience them. Even with my small immediate family, I know I grew up incredibly blessed to have these holiday moments that some people have never had and maybe never will have, so I am grateful for these amazing memories.

I’ve also been fortunate to have wonderful friends throughout adulthood who have graciously invited me into their homes for holiday gatherings with their own families (shoutout to my Santa Clarita and Bremerton friends… you know who you are!). Things are a little different here in Texas because I don’t have the community of law enforcement friends that I had in both California and Washington, and my bestie now lives in Arkansas, so last year I spent Thanksgiving and Christmas alone, and I’ll be doing the same this year.

So, I guess my point is this – Even if you have family drama, and you dread getting together for the holidays, appreciate that shit for what it is. Seriously. Don’t hold grudges. Don’t take your family relationships for granted. Whatever your situation is, embrace the annoying stuff and enjoy those few hours where everyone comes together. Be grateful, even if it’s a pain in the ass to cook a big meal, and you end up having to clean a messy house and hand wash a huge pile of fancy dishes. If you’re lucky, dinner is at someone else’s house, and all you have to do is show up with a couple pumpkin pies and cans of whipped cream.

Unapologetically Outspoken,

Tara