Transparent Tuesdays

Issue 193

You guys,

Back when we all spoke to each other my siblings and I did a Christmas Family Pollyanna Gift Exchange.

It started on Thanksgiving when the five of us wrote our names on a piece of paper with a list of a few items we wanted, with a limit of $40. Then we picked randomly and kept it a secret until Christmas Eve. 

One year my older brother Jim’s list looked like this: 

• Nothing

• Everything

• A small horse

• A wild fox

• Gold

• Happiness

• Cloak and/or Dagger

This was the year I moved to California, when I was 27 years old. It was my first time away from South Jersey and we had to Skype for the gift exchange. 

Everyone crowded onto my screen. It was Dad’s first time using Skype. He kept yelling at me through the computer and waving his arms so I could see him. He was right in front of me. 

My brother was the last to join in. “What time is it there??? What DAY is it?”

My sister Jessica had Jim for the pollyanna. She got him an analog clock and a movie called, Cloak and Dagger. She had him another year when he put “a small pony” on his list and got him an enormous stuffed animal of a small pony. 

Jim had me. He got me an Amazon gift card for $30 and said, “Something else is arriving Tuesday. Do you want to know what it is?” 

I told him no. 

“I think you might,” he said. 

“Okay, fine, what is it,” I said. 

He started rambling about some deal he found. I told him to spit it out. 

“A dozen hacky sacks,” he said. 

“You’re an idiot,” I said. “Why would you waste your money on that? What am I going to do with a dozen hacky sacks?” 

My whole family laughed, like they were in on the joke. I still don’t get it. 

Jim was always tainting my holly jolly cheer. The old tradition was that Dad read us The Night Before Christmas on Christmas Eve. When we were little we all gathered into the bedroom Alexis and I shared. The five of us divided ourselves between the two twin beds pushed against opposing walls. Dad sat on a folding chair in the middle of the room. It was the only time he read to us, his voice silky smooth, as if it was only meant to read this one story once a year. He spoke slowly, then turned the book outward to show us the pictures as he fanned it across the room for all to see. Then he licked his finger to turn the page. 

This went on until one year, when I was in middle school, and Dad got to the line, “Away to the window I flew like a flash, tore open the shutter and threw up the sash.” 

Jim burst out, “Ew! He threw it up?? Gross!” 

If you know anything about my dad, you know that once he starts laughing he can’t stop. At his own mother’s funeral he made eye contact with his brother from across the room. The pair of them had been crying nonstop and had handfuls of tissues in each hand. They both seemed to decide, together, in that moment, through just a look, that it was hilarious that there were so many tissue boxes but not a single trash can. 

My aunt scolded them. Us kids, who were under 10, joined in the laughter with our funny dad and uncle. 

So when my brother said it was gross to throw up the sash, dad lost it. That Y-shaped vein on his forehead that only appears when he can’t stop laughing remained on his red, tear-streamed face for the rest of the book. And the more I yelled at him to please finish the story, the more he couldn’t hold it in. 

Ever year thereafter Dad laughed when he got to that part in the story. And every year thereafter I sulked about it. 

The Christmas Family Pollyanna Gift Exchange ended a few years later when we decided to nix the gift-giving and go out for a sibling dinner instead. The last time we got together I was 35 and pregnant with George. It was so early in the pregnancy that I didn’t want to tell people but had to because me not drinking was a dead giveaway. 

We met at Jim’s house in Philly. He asked if I wanted anything to drink. I said no, “I might be pregnant.” 

Jim looked at my sister. “Stephanie? Drink?”

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Bleecker Bombs

Cheryl Strayed hosted a 2-hour live event and talked about my favorite thing: memoir. 

In this podcast episode I talk about my biggest takeaways, including her answer to the following question:

“How can I write a book if my family says I'm crazy and that ‘it didn't happen’?”

Listen to the episode on overcast.fm, Spotify, Apple Podcasts, or Google Podcasts.

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Until next week, 

Charlie