Questioning

I’ve always been a bit of a sucker for Christmas. I’m currently at my parents’ house for a few days, and right now the Christmas tree is stood next to me as I type and I’m getting little Proustian rushes from the sight of the some of the decades-old decorations hanging from it.  Having not grown up in a religious household, I imagine the feelings that are still triggered by the smell of Christmas trees, the sound of carols or the taste of mince pies are all inextricably linked to the excitement of waking up early in the morning as a small child to a big pile of gaudy plastic shit – but whatever.  The roots of the magic might well be horribly capitalistic, but magic is in short supply as an adult and we may as well get it where we can.

Over the last few years, though, Christmas has started to lose its glitter and sparkle. Last year in particular, at the end of difficult term, I found myself dreading coming “home” to the family. For some context, I live in a different county to the one in which I grew up and where most of the family have remained, and I don’t see get to see them all that often. I’m single and childless, and the alternative would be to stay in my flat and celebrate the day alone – something which, admittedly, I did quite happily during lockdown. However, as Dickens reminds me every year when I’m reading him aloud to Year 10, you don’t want to be the guy turning down the family invites at this time of year, lest you end up the butt of a Twenty Questions-based joke in your nephew’s drawing room.

My reluctance to come home isn’t down to any misanthropic anti-festive grouchiness on my part, so much as it is the issue that it seems a lot of us have at this time of year, dealing with the family’s views. Ugh, the horrible, horrible views. You know the ones; the pro-Tory, pro-Reform, pro- Brexit, anti-everything thoughtful and progressive. Judging by social media, this is a pretty common issue at this time of the year, and there are a number of schools of thought about how to deal with it which sit along a spectrum ranging from “keep quiet and/or walk away” to “throw a wobbly and then walk away, slamming doors and swearing as you go”.

As you’ve probably gathered if you’ve read my previous posts, I’m not very good at conflict. Even if it gets as far as a row – which it rarely does, my natural tendency being to bite my tongue and ignore it – then I find myself backing down, trying to restore the peace, hating any lingering animosity and struggling to stop it running round and round in my mind for hours, sometimes days afterwards.  At the same time, I feel a duty to step in when the shit that’s coming out of people’s mouths is of the prejudiced sort, the sort that would make me just as tizzy and sleepless if I didn’t step up and challenge it.

As such I go into the festive period in no way relaxed, and instead tense and wary of what might end up being said. I wouldn’t mind if others felt that way, but I’m the outsider coming in and they’re on the majority team, comfortably sharing their horrible opinions with each other as I assume they would when I’m not there.  I’ve been reading my Bill Rogers again recently, and am trying to use those techniques to approach any issues, but I’m struggling to make it work.  The tension in me grows too large, and before I’ve steadied my breathing or relaxed my muscles I have, rather than calmly and assertively putting forward my point, found myself yelling “stop reading those fucking newspapers!” at my elderly parents.

So I’ll take a deep breath, try to focus chocolate and cheese and remember it only lasts a couple of days. Merry Christmas everyone, and best of luck out there.