One Thanksgiving, I drove to Virginia Beach to have Thanksgiving Dinner with my parents. It was just going to be the three of us that year...having a small, quiet, family Thanksgiving.
Until my dad was (characteristically) inspired to do something really nice. He found out that an artist he worked with had nowhere to go for the holiday, so he invited the guy to share the day with us, too.
The man was a freakishly talented painter and a raging alcoholic. The guy didn't drive, so my father offered to pick him up and drive him to our house, with the stipulation that the invitation was contigent on the guy not having anything to drink that day. (Let's be honest here...telling an alcoholic they cannot have booze on a holiday is like telling Lindsay Lohan that she should not wear leggings as pants -- even though they know the results will be disastrous, the allure is just too great.)
I'm pretty sure you can guess how this played out. The guy was tanked when my dad got to his house. My dad, not wanting the guy to be drunk and alone on Thanksgiving (showing of hands, please...how many of you would LOVE to be drunk and alone on Thanksgiving?), loaded the guy into the car and brought him over. He poured this guy into his chair at the dinner table and the guy proceeded to say the most foul, obscene and lecherous things to and about my mother and I all during dinner.
I could see my father's face getting redder as he tried to contain this guy's outbursts as much as possible and scolded him after each new rude remark. It was really, really uncomfortable. Until it got really, really funny. After a while, we all realized that this guy was so out of it that he had no idea what he was saying and each inappropriate comment became more hilarious. (Especially when we'd toss in asides like, "I bet this is just like the first Thanksgiving" and "Pass the stuffing, Sugar Tits.")
Dinner seemed to last an eternity, then my dad did the "driving home of drunken artist friend" that is so steeped in Thanksgiving tradition.
Hoping yours is memorable too,
Brutalism
10 comments:
OH man. To be a fly on the wall at THAT Thanksgiving. :)
I remember spending one Christmas alone in my sparse little house. Everyone was sorry for me. Full of pity. "You really have to work tomorrow? You really can't go home?" I was the only person overjoyed that I got to spend the day eating what I wanted when I wanted and lazing around in my underwear watching bad TV instead of politely listening to someone's old aunt complaining that the turkey was overcooked. It was heaven! :)
Sugar tits. Hilarious. Drunk people are funny. And artists are odd. What a combination.
That is what I call performance art. Forget Annie Sprinkle having the audience rub chocolate over her naked body - getting smashed and lasciviously insulting your hosts is an act worthy of a review in the Arts section of the Times.
Perhaps I will try it sometime.
That sounds like it would have been be a lot more fun than what I have planned: traveling to Florida (my least favorite state) to spend the time with my wife's mother (with whom I get along well), her mother and my wife's childless aunts (who are about as pleasant as cats caught in a rainstorm). There are a couple of husbands involved but they're older and wiser than I am: they've learned to stay the hell out of the way.
Thank {insert $DIETY here] that I'm bringing my 2 year-old son and his Y chromosome to help entertain everyone and, more importantly, balance out the tidal wave of estrogen.
Being insulted by a drunken nutjob would be better. Of course that's why I have twitter.
i never had this happen to me... my parents are stingy.. they dont like sharing.
*raises hand*
I had a new one this year, a conversation about abortion! Fortunately my tactic of going nuclear early on resulted in a brief conversation.
Then afterward I needed something like the security word I have to enter to get this posted: tumsjj.
My favorite Thanksgiving memory has to be when my brother got drunk and started a fight with my mom. He stormed out and spent the rest of dinner in the freezing cold, muttering to himself on the deck. His new girlfriend remained at the table with the rest of us. Awkward? Nah. It was awkward when she married him anyway.
Tard -- was that after smoking pipey pipe? WTF does that mean?
YMY -- Ahh...the holidays. Do you laugh about it now or is it best undiscussed (like it my family where it seethes just below the surface for years?)
My mom is a seether, but my brother and I are in-your-facers. Here is a conversation his wife and I had recently:
Her: Your brother is becoming a DICK!!
Me: Becoming???!
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