Anti-capitalism.

Christmas is usually known as a time for giving. In my family’s house, gifts are no longer allowed.

At least, that is the beautiful holiday tradition (or negation of a tradition) that my parents are trying to instill in recent years. We simply eat an extravagant feast (courtesy of my dad, the executive chef), drink lots of wine, and enjoy each other’s company. My mom calls it “Thanksgiving Part II.” We encourage the rest of our family to not worry about the good ol’ American capitalistic aspect of the holiday season, as we are ‘dumbing it down’ to an authentic celebration of family.

Everyone brings presents anyway, of course–we just try not to open them until after the event. Not to mention, my mom is the queen of buying the perfect presents for the whole clan, including the most recently born and married additions, whose names I even have trouble keeping track of. As a retail manager herself, constantly surrounded by commodities, she has her eye open year-round for gifts that she could later give somebody. Even if it is the most obscure and strange item, chances are, she will know somebody within her endless network of acquaintances and extended family members that will appreciate it.

Regardless, Christmas gift-giving is now taboo in the Kinslow household. This year, my Aunt Sharon couldn’t help herself, probably shaking with anticipation, and ended up placing my brother’s and my gifts in front of us (very subtly, actually), then returned to her seat without saying a word. We, in turn, instinctively began opening said gifts out of decades of holiday habit, before even realizing that she bent the rule. The old-fashioned shaving kits she gave us were very cool, as her gifts never fail to be, but I still laughed on the inside. I let her know that I always get a lot of use out of the things she gives me, and that made her smile. Part of my job as a nephew was done; I went back to my red wine and conversation with my cousin.

The point is, we have grown to appreciate the holiday for what it should be: a gathering of family over a great meal and some booze, and a chance to catch up with the people that you may not get to see very often. It’s a time to cherish the moments you have with your octogenarian grandmother who still has the spunk of a twenty-something vixen and the teachings of a lifetime of travel and entrepreneurship. And to drink enough wine to let a few cracks slip toward your older brother in front of eight family members without fear of him confronting you, because he can just retort with similar demeanor within the blithe tone of the room. And to laugh at your begging Jack Russell Terrier as her puppy Xanex kicks in and she starts to go on the nod (she has noise phobia from the dishwasher; please don’t call the ASPCA on us). Not to mention, it’s a time to eat dad’s famous potato-and-sausage soup. He only makes it for Christmas (who says we don’t have traditions?).

Overall, it’s a great time of year. The stressful cleaning of our undersized condominium to prepare for our guests is well worth it, once the meal is served and we all share stories and laughs.

Maybe tomorrow morning we’ll open our gifts. Right now, I feel like I already received mine.

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