Ahh, the memories In honor of Black Friday, I've found the story I wanted to share. I was in an introductory reporting class and before Thanksgiving break, the teacher told us to write about our holiday. He didn't give any other direction. So I wrote this. I showed it to my mom later and she howled with laughter. She thought it was so funny that she showed it to someone she worked with at the time. "Isn't it funny?!" Mom asked the woman. "No," the woman replied. "I think it's sad. It's dysfunctional." Well, lady, who isn't? But reading it now, 10 years later, I don't think it's as hilarious as I used to. It sounds kind of mean. But I didn't mean it that way. I love my mom and my dad and my sister and my grandma. But you know how your family just knows how to push that one button that no one else knows is there? When my mom, sister and I are together, the buttons get pushed. It just happens. We don't really do it on purpose. Mom's spastic, my sister and my mom have quick tempers. My sister says something, my mom gets huffy, then I get mad because they won't stop arguing. Yeah, we're kind of a mess, but I think it's just a byproduct of being a family. And I love them. So take this story with the grain of sarcastic salt -- because that's the way it was intended. And feel free to nod along, because I know many, many families are like this. (By the way, I got an A on this paper. And the teacher said "I didn't know you were funny until I read this." I told him, "Hey, I just report the truth.") [My name] "holidays" In my family, the holidays carry sleighs full of tradition. It’s mostly like the rest of the year except we all get to argue more during the festivities. Let’s face it: Christmas really starts at Thanksgiving. That’s when the fun begins at my house. The first tradition: Mom cooks Thanksgiving dinner, but my sister and I aren’t there to enjoy it. We go to our paternal grandmother’s for dinner. It’s been that way since our parents divorced. Dad gets us for Thanksgiving and Christmas. Mom gets us the rest of the year. Mom is left with her mother, who every five minutes says, “I don’t want to tell you how to cook the turkey, but…” The day after Thanksgiving is one of the highlights of the season. My mom, sister and I go shopping. Sometimes my boyfriend joins us if he’s feeling brave. This year, he stayed home. I should have stayed home with him. We dared the mall. It was packed. There were many men sitting on benches, which is a sure sign that the shopping season has begun. OK, we’re driving around the parking lot looking for the furthest possible parking space from the mall. Mom just bought a new truck and doesn’t want the paint scratched. After we walk the mile to the mall, we go to the music store. My sister, 13, decides that while we’re Christmas shopping, she will spend all of her money on herself. First, she buys two CDs, then wants to get her picture taken with Santa. But she won’t stand in line by herself. She throws a fit. Mom decides to go home. We’ve only been out for an hour. We take my sister home, which takes about a half hour. Then mom and I go back to the mall and finish our shopping in peace. The next adventure this season will be getting a Christmas tree. Every year it gets worse. It’s like a scene from Christmas Vacation. The second week in December, we will walk around a tree farm, knee deep in snow and argue about which tree is better. When we finally agree, mom will cut down the tree with a handsaw, drag it to the truck and go home. Then the real “fun” will begin.