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No Chinese Food on Christmas Eve(Loosely based on a true story) “This is bullshit,” said Billy. “It’s not that big a deal,” said Billy’s mother. The two were discussing the family’s Christmas plans over the phone. “It just makes more sense. Your father and I are on low-sodium diets and your brother doesn’t even like Chinese food very much.” “But we get Chinese food every Christmas Eve,” said Billy. “Actually, we’ve only been doing it for five years, since Grandma passed away. We used to go to her house for dinner every Christmas Eve,” said Billy’s mother. “Do you seriously think that one damn night of Chinese food is going to kill you?” asked Billy. “Well, probably not right away…” “So, then what’s the problem?” asked Billy. “Well, it might mean some serious health problems,” said Billy’s mother. “But it might not?” said Billy. “Billy, you’re almost thirty, stop acting like you’re ten years old.” “Great, you’re screwing up Christmas, and you’re insulting my maturity,” said Billy. “I’m not trying to insult you, I just think you’re acting childish right now,” said Billy’s mother. “I think you’re the one being childish,” said Billy. “You’re afraid of having Chinese food, so no one can have it. Real mature, Mom.” “No one even wants Chinese food except for you, Billy. I don’t even know why we started doing that every year.” “So, what the hell are we supposed to eat instead?” Billy asked. “Horse shmegma?” “Will you watch your mouth please?” said Billy’s mother. “We’re going to have a chicken dinner.” “Disgusting. I want to puke.” “Broiled chicken makes you want to puke, but a fatty, fried chicken finger is a delicious holiday treat somehow?” “At least it’s traditional,” said Billy. “How is Chinese food traditional? Most Chinese people don’t even celebrate Christmas,” said Billy’s mother. “That is so racist. I can’t believe you’re such a racist,” said Billy. “I hate racists.” “For God’s sake. Can we just change the subject?” asked Billy’s mother. “Fine.” “So, what did you get for your father for Christmas?” “I’m not getting you guys anything if you’re not going to have Chinese food on Christmas Eve!” said Billy. “Are you at least going to come over?” “Sure, I’ll come over, but I just hope you feel bad when I starve to death.” * * * The weekend before Christmas, Bill and his brother Tommy went to the mall for some last minute Christmas shopping. “Is it really about the Chinese food?” asked Tommy, “Or is it just about getting what you want?” “I’m not being petty here. I just want to keep doing what we’ve always done. I don’t see anything wrong with that,” said Billy. “But none of us want to keep doing it except you. I don’t.” “I know. You’ve always bitched and moaned about getting the Chinese food. You must be so pleased with yourself now,” said Billy. “I never complained about anything! I never gave a shit one way or another. If you were happy with the Chinese food, then I didn’t care. But now Mom and Dad can’t eat it, and I think we should be sensitive to that. Can’t you just go one Christmas Eve without Chinese food?” “It’s not just one Christmas Eve,’ said Billy. “Are Mom and Dad going to be off their diets next year? No. This isn’t about this year; it’s about every Christmas Eve forever.” “So what if it is? It’s not like you can never have Chinese food ever again. Look, I’ll buy you lunch at Panda Express,” said Tommy. “No way,” said Billy. “Mall Chinese food is nasty.” “So is the shit we get every year!” said Tommy. “It’s not like we’ve been getting high quality stuff. It’s fatty, full of MSG and the place is so cruddy and dirty I can’t even think about it while I’m eating. Seriously, dude, it’s nothing special.” “Christmas is nothing special. Fine,” said Billy. “Come on, Christmas isn’t about friggin’ Chinese food,” said Tommy. “Don’t start getting all Jesus on me now,” said Billy. “I don’t want to hear it, Linus.” “What I was going to say was that it’s about being with people you care about,” said Tommy. “Uh-huh. Being with a bunch of people who don’t care about what I eat is more like it,” said Billy. “I hate to tell you this, but I’m afraid pretty much no one cares about what you eat.” Tommy handed his shopping bags to Billy. “Hold onto these, I’m going to the bathroom.” Billy took the bags from his brother and looked for a place to sit while he waited. He found an empty bench near the pavilion where the mall Santa held court. Santa was on his lunch break, so the area was clear of people. Billy sat brooding, visions of beef teriyaki dancing in his head. He was shook from his reverie by a man and a small boy approaching his bench. “Excuse me,” said the man. “Do you know when Santa’s going to be back?” “Sign says he’ll be back at one,” Billy answered. “Oh, sorry, I didn’t see that,” said the man. “No problem,” said Billy. “One o’clock, that’s a half an hour from now.” The man turned to the boy. “Well, Johnny, do you want to go home now, or wait for Santa?” Johnny looked up at his father from under an oversized baseball cap. With hope in his eyes and with the smallest voice you ever heard, he asked, “Can we stay for Santa?” The man smiled. “Sure thing, champ.” Billy watched the two. “Is this your boy?” he asked. “Yes, he is.” The man took off Johnny’s cap and tousled his hair. He placed the cap back on his son’s head. “Johnny’s so excited to see Santa. Aren’t you, Johnny?” Johnny nodded, his eyes beaming. “That’s great,” said Billy. “It’s great to see kids get excited for Christmas. Makes you kind of wish you could recapture that innocence, doesn’t it?” “I sort of feel like I do, through his eyes,” said Johnny’s father. Johnny tugged at his father’s jacket sleeve. The man bent down to let Johnny whisper in his ear. The man looked around the mall. He asked Billy, “Do you know where the restrooms are?” Billy nodded and pointed in the direction Tommy had gone. “Sure, right over there.” “Thanks,” said Johnny’s father. The two of them started walking in the direction of the men’s room. Johnny’s father looked over his shoulder and said to Billy, “Merry Christmas.” Billy watched them go. “Hold on,” he called. Johnny and his father stopped. “Can I talk to Johnny for a second?” Johnny looked up at his father. His father shrugged and said it was okay. Johnny approached Billy, who crouched down to get to eye level with the boy. Billy looked into Johnny’s eyes, put his hand on Johnny’s shoulder and said, “I hope Santa Claus dies in a fire.” Johnny’s eyes widened to the size of saucers. Tears well up and then let loose. Johnny started bawling in the middle of the mall. His father ran to Billy and grabbed him by the shirt. “Why would you say something like that to a little kid? What the hell is wrong with you?” “I didn’t want to be the only one whose Christmas was ruined,” Billy explained. Johnny’s father just looked at Billy for a moment, as if trying to determine if he was serious or not. Then he reached back and belted Billy square in the face. Billy tottered backwards, tripped over the bench, and sprawled back onto the mall floor. Tommy came out of the bathroom in time to see the punch connect with his brother’s face. He rushed to where his brother lay prone on the ground. “What happened?” he asked. Johnny’s father was flustered. “I- I don’t know. I’ve never hit anyone like this before. He just set me off,” he stammered. Tommy sighed. “I guess I can see that.” Johnny was still screaming his little head off after all the meanness and violence. Tommy grabbed his shopping bags and reached into one from the KB Toy Store. He pulled out a Sponge Bob Square Pants doll. “Hey there, do you like Sponge Bob?” Johnny’s wails quieted to a whimper. He nodded. “ “Here you go, it’s all yours,” said Tommy. Johnny took the doll hesitantly, and with a sniffle, quietly thanked Tommy. Johnny’s father gathered up his son and ushered him away, mumbling apologies to Billy and Tommy. “We’d better get some ice on this,” said Tommy. * * * On Christmas Eve Eve, Billy was visited by three spirits, none of whom were able to convince him that he was making a big deal over nothing with this Chinese food thing. In fact, Billy was lucky that these spirits were immaterial, because by the end of the night, the Ghost of Christmas Eve Future was just about ready to give Billy a shiner to match the one Johnny’s father gave him. Christmas Eve came and Billy went to his parents’ house. His father met him at the door. “I see you brought presents after all,” Billy’s father said. “I thought you told your mother you weren’t going to.” “I had already bought them anyway,” Billy muttered. He went to the tree and put the presents under it. His father patted him on the back. “Thank you. And Merry Christmas, son.” “If you say so,” grumbled Billy. Billy’s father turned him around and looked him in the eye. “Okay, Billy, I want you to listen to me here. Now, I haven’t had the pleasure of debating you on this matter yet, but nevertheless, I’m of the feeling that you don’t really need to bring up the fact that we’re not having Chinese food tonight. I’ve heard all about it from your mother and Tommy, and I think it’s been pretty well covered. Now, you’re a man, more or less, and I can’t tell you what to do, but I can strongly suggest that you let this drop. Are we clear?” “Actually, Dad,” said Billy. “I did want to talk about it. I wanted to say that I’ve been stupid and wrong about the whole thing. Billy’s father’s face brightened. “I’m glad to hear you say that.” “I realized that there’s no reason that we all have to eat Chinese food. What’s really important is that I get to,” said Billy. His father’s shoulders slumped. He shook his head and said, “Now Billy, don’t you think that buying your own separate dinner would be a little strange?” “Whoa,” interrupted Billy. “Why should I buy it? You invited me to dinner, you should feed me. It’s your responsibility!” “Billy,” said his father, “You must realize that I’m not going to go out and buy you Chinese food tonight, right?” “Yeah,” said Billy, “I figured you’d be a dick about it.” Billy’s father didn’t believe in hitting his children, even his grown ones, so he didn’t do what the Ghost of Christmas Eve Future couldn’t, even though he really wanted to. Soon the family gathered in the dining room for their chicken dinner. Despite all the grousing and complaining he had done, Billy ate as much as anyone else. He pouted and sulked throughout the entire dinner, but in the end, he ate his share. Christmas is a beautiful and magical time. People are inspired by the season to great compassion, deeds of generosity, and feelings of good will that they may not be capable of the rest of the year. But Christmas magic can be perverted. One bad seed can use his negativity to hold the holiday hostage and use it as a club with which to beat the feelings and sensibilities of his friends and family. Ultimately, Billy fell somewhere in the middle of that spectrum, though it would be overly generous to say he was closer to the former than he was to the latter. For that matter, it probably would not be correct to say he was closer to the center than he was to the latter. The next Christmas Eve the family ordered Mexican. It was an acceptable
compromise to all. Billy’s parents were able to find options
on the menu that fit their diet. Billy was still upset about the
Chinese food, and deep down he knew he had lost that battle, but
was able to convince himself that he had won a victory by keeping
the meal ethnic. And Tommy, who didn’t care what they ate,
judiciously never pointed out that it was silly to drive 40 miles
to the nearest Mexican restaurant that stayed open late on Christmas
Eve. Because ultimately, none of them ever wanted a repeat of the
year there was no Chinese food on Christmas Eve. |
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