A group of co-workers were chatting in the break room about their family Thanksgiving traditions and memorable holiday stories. This got me thinking about my own family’s holiday stories…and then I had to explain why I burst out laughing. So here’s a compilation of our shenanigans for your enjoyment.
The Thanksgiving that the cops were called
Two years ago my parents and I went to my sister’s apartment in Atlanta for Thanksgiving. The first thing you must understand about our family is that we tend to drink a lot on our own and even more when we get together. So we emerged from our turkey comas with the help of wine, beer and whiskey. My sister and I then decided to teach our parents how to play Rock Band. They immediately were obsessed so we played for hours with the wine, beer and whiskey flowing. My brother in law and my dad were the most awesome. My dad tended to just moan loudly instead of singing the words and my brother in law picked all the screaming songs and then really screamed. We were interrupted from our rocking out by banging on the door. The cop that was doing the banging informed us that it was 3am and the many calls from the neighbors indicated we needed to be quiet now. He wasn’t very happy, apparently he had been knocking for awhile and we couldn’t hear him. I guess the neighbors had tried knocking too, but if you’re going to rock you can’t do it quietly. End note: my parents bought Rock Band and we still play whenever we visit. They even have Rock Band parties with their friends. We created a monster.
My dad traumatizes a small child on Halloween
My dad used to get really into Halloween and would always come up with ways to make our trick or treaters pee their pants. One year he turned our attic into a haunted house for my sister’s party. It was pretty epic. Some family friends and a few of my dad’s work buddies helped out by being characters. In addition to all the blood and guts strewn about there was a Jason-like character complete with fully functional chainsaw, a floating head, the grim reaper, and I played the ghost of a little girl. One girl totally lost her shit. She was in hysterics, but because my dad was a masterful creepy designer the only way out of the attic was to go through the entire thing. We had to take her back through it with all the lights turned on and everyone’s masks and make up off to prove to her it wasn’t real. She never came back to the house.
The Christmas bon-fire turned mushroom cloud
When all of us kids were younger we would take turns hosting Christmas at each of our houses. On one of our turns while we lived in South Carolina my dad and my uncles wanted to have a bon-fire since we had a huge yard backing up to a wood. It had rained a day before so all the firewood was still damp. Good thing we had a shit ton of lighter fluid. And alcohol. I can still picture my dad dumping lighter fluid on the pit and everyone slowly backing away. He stepped back and threw a match in. I shit you not it was a mushroom cloud explosion. He singed part of his eyebrows off and a fire ball burned a hole through the seat of a plastic lawn chair.
The gang goes to a Cinco De Mayo party
When my sister moved into a house during college my parents and I drove up her bedroom furniture. We timed it so I could be there for the Cinco De Mayo party they were having. What I was not expecting was for my parents to go as well. With a bottle of tequila that my dad carried around offering shots of. He was a big hit. This was my first big keg/house party, I was still in high school and not a huge drinker. This was also the first time I realized my parents were pretty awesome. I waited for the heavy drinking after they had left, at which point I drank anything anyone handed me. Margaritas, jello shots, tequila shots, beer. I then started vomiting profusely. My sister locked me in her room, which I barfed all over because I couldn’t aim into the trash can she had given me. My parents took one look at me the next morning and shook their heads. The only thing my dad said about it was “I don’t approve of your choices” to which I replied “I don’t either.” I still can’t drink tequila.