It happened again last weekend, which was really the last straw: I finally just said, “MOM, if you hate me so much, why don’t you just stop inviting me to your dinner parties?”
My mom was never all that religious while we were growing up – but now all of the sudden in her 70’s she’s decided she’s Jewish with a motherfucking vengeance. OK, OK, we get it – you’re gonna die soon and you think you can fool god – leave me out of it!
No such luck – she’s completely obsessed with how my wife and I run our lives: so disappointed that our kids aren’t in Hebrew School, so angry and judgmental about our failure to belong to a temple, and above all, completely intolerant of our decision to celebrate Christmas.
Christmas is the greatest holiday on the planet, and excuse me for wanting to give my children all the joy that I was completely deprived of as a child. You would think that seeing one’s grandkids’ faces light up with excitement would be enough to melt the icy heart of even the most judgmental and hypocritical religious zealot. Not so. In fact, this past Christmas, she went beyond sanity and took a Grinch-like pleasure in announcing to my little kids that SANTA CLAUS WAS NOT REAL.
I was livid – I couldn’t believe she would rob our own flesh-and-blood of this once-per-lifetime innocence – all in the name of allegiance to her stupid team.
“Fine, kids,” I said to them, “Grandma’s right – there’s no Santa Claus – and there’s no fucking GOD either!”
Bitch wants to fuck up my myths, I’ll take her shit down with me. Fuck that – if we’re gonna drop science on my kindergarteners, let’s take it ALL the way WU TANG STYLE kid. Hoo-ha; Hoo-ha.
Anyway, I did fuck my cousin at Passover once – I was just 15 and she was almost 17 – we were up in a dark country attic in deepest New Jersey, drunk for the first time on kosher whiskey punch and the attraction that had been secretly building between us at holiday dinners over the years.
It was so illegal – she was a freaking Junior! She asked me to unzip my pants and I did what she said – I barely knew what I was doing. I held my breath so long I almost passed out. It was probably the most intense neurophysiological incident I’ve ever been a part of.
And in the end, there in the musty Rumson attic, chests expanding and contracting, soft sweaty flesh pressed together, the experience was the kind of thing that really embodies the worthwhile bits of religion: family coming together, good feelings, tradition, and true, honest love.