them. It’s a trained smile he gives for the camera, and it looks alien and uncomfortable on him.
Mom shoos us from the table, and Paul and Rosemary giggle and chase after my dad. I walk around the table and I kiss Mom on the cheek. ‘Best cinnamon buns ever, Mom.’ She smiles gratefully at me.
‘You guys are holding up Christmas!’ my dad yells. Mom and I head into the living room. Mom scolds Rosemary and Paul for being too hyper and tells them to sit quietly on the couch while she hands everyone one present at a time. We open them neatly and
slowly, in turn, so my parents can take pictures.
Rosemary usually gets to open a present first because she’s the youngest, and she’s whiny and fidgety sometimes, and my parents expect my brother and me to behave better than that. Today is no exception, and she’s busy unwrapping a present while everyone else sits still and watches.
You have to act excited when you’re opening presents. If you don’t act excited enough, you could get yelled at. When you’re done unwrapping your present, you can stare at it in awe for a few seconds before you have to hold it up for the rest of the family to see and take pictures while you smile. You can never not like a present, even if it’s a hideous sweater two sizes too small that you will never ever wear.
Christmas is always like this for us. The day becoming ever more excruciating until Dad decides to take a nap and Mom starts cooking dinner. Then, and only sometimes,
we stop acting like Stepford children and act like normal kids who squeal and rip through presents excitedly in a colourful tornado. For now the lie continues.
I look over at my dad and he’s petting Noodles and talking to her softly. Noodles is wagging her curly little tail and sniffing his face. He scratches behind her velvet ears, ears that have been rubbed so much because of their softness that they’re starting to go bald in spots.
I walk over, with the big brown blanket that I was wrapped in, and curl up next to my dad, who gives the dog a final pet and then wraps his arm around me. All is well right now, and I couldn’t care less about the presents.
Rosemary squeals and holds up a doll. Mom takes pictures. Rosemary runs up to Mom and kisses her on the cheek and throws her little arms around Mom’s neck. Mom whispers in her ear to hug her dad first next time she opens a present.
Rosemary seems to baffle my father, and he is always slightly aloof with her. She’s much more like a
normal
kid than my brother and me; she cries and whines and pretends, and gets my brother and me into trouble all the time. Her childlike nature confuses my dad, I think, and he doesn’t know how to deal with her. She was a fussy baby who only wanted Mom to hold her, and cried whenever anyone else tried to pick her up, including my dad, who was so confused as to why his own child didn’t want her dad to hold her that he finally quit trying.
Rosemary runs and quickly hugs my dad and thanks him. Dad pats her on the back and Rosemary runs to sit on the floor and play with her new doll. Mom picks out a present for Paul. Paul opens the present, which is some army action figure, and says ‘wow, cool!’ before posing for his picture. He runs over to my dad. Paul throws his arms around my dad who lets go of me and they start play wrestling.
My dad was always trying to toughen Paul up, even though he wasn’t into sports
or anything else considered manly. So when he showed an interest in action figures, my dad had no problem encouraging this new interest.
I sigh, jealous. I am a tomboy; I like sports and the outdoors and wrestling around and bows and arrows and guns. But I am not a boy, and though my dad will get frustrated with Paul and eventually start to play with me, he always wants to play with my brother first.
‘Emmy, it’s your turn.’
I look over at Mom, who has seen me being slighted by my father and calls me over to her. I open the small present, certain that
Mom shoos us from the table, and Paul and Rosemary giggle and chase after my dad. I walk around the table and I kiss Mom on the cheek. ‘Best cinnamon buns ever, Mom.’ She smiles gratefully at me.
‘You guys are holding up Christmas!’ my dad yells. Mom and I head into the living room. Mom scolds Rosemary and Paul for being too hyper and tells them to sit quietly on the couch while she hands everyone one present at a time. We open them neatly and
slowly, in turn, so my parents can take pictures.
Rosemary usually gets to open a present first because she’s the youngest, and she’s whiny and fidgety sometimes, and my parents expect my brother and me to behave better than that. Today is no exception, and she’s busy unwrapping a present while everyone else sits still and watches.
You have to act excited when you’re opening presents. If you don’t act excited enough, you could get yelled at. When you’re done unwrapping your present, you can stare at it in awe for a few seconds before you have to hold it up for the rest of the family to see and take pictures while you smile. You can never not like a present, even if it’s a hideous sweater two sizes too small that you will never ever wear.
Christmas is always like this for us. The day becoming ever more excruciating until Dad decides to take a nap and Mom starts cooking dinner. Then, and only sometimes,
we stop acting like Stepford children and act like normal kids who squeal and rip through presents excitedly in a colourful tornado. For now the lie continues.
I look over at my dad and he’s petting Noodles and talking to her softly. Noodles is wagging her curly little tail and sniffing his face. He scratches behind her velvet ears, ears that have been rubbed so much because of their softness that they’re starting to go bald in spots.
I walk over, with the big brown blanket that I was wrapped in, and curl up next to my dad, who gives the dog a final pet and then wraps his arm around me. All is well right now, and I couldn’t care less about the presents.
Rosemary squeals and holds up a doll. Mom takes pictures. Rosemary runs up to Mom and kisses her on the cheek and throws her little arms around Mom’s neck. Mom whispers in her ear to hug her dad first next time she opens a present.
Rosemary seems to baffle my father, and he is always slightly aloof with her. She’s much more like a
normal
kid than my brother and me; she cries and whines and pretends, and gets my brother and me into trouble all the time. Her childlike nature confuses my dad, I think, and he doesn’t know how to deal with her. She was a fussy baby who only wanted Mom to hold her, and cried whenever anyone else tried to pick her up, including my dad, who was so confused as to why his own child didn’t want her dad to hold her that he finally quit trying.
Rosemary runs and quickly hugs my dad and thanks him. Dad pats her on the back and Rosemary runs to sit on the floor and play with her new doll. Mom picks out a present for Paul. Paul opens the present, which is some army action figure, and says ‘wow, cool!’ before posing for his picture. He runs over to my dad. Paul throws his arms around my dad who lets go of me and they start play wrestling.
My dad was always trying to toughen Paul up, even though he wasn’t into sports
or anything else considered manly. So when he showed an interest in action figures, my dad had no problem encouraging this new interest.
I sigh, jealous. I am a tomboy; I like sports and the outdoors and wrestling around and bows and arrows and guns. But I am not a boy, and though my dad will get frustrated with Paul and eventually start to play with me, he always wants to play with my brother first.
‘Emmy, it’s your turn.’
I look over at Mom, who has seen me being slighted by my father and calls me over to her. I open the small present, certain that
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