A Cullen Family Christmas-Italian Style.

By: Melissa228

Prompts: Christmas, wine, meatball

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EPOV-

I stood outside the door of my parent's house and drew in a deep breath before entering. Coming home for Christmas always brought forth a plethora of emotions. While I was happy to see my family, the fact that I had to see my family was my conflict. It was never as simple as walking in the door, saying hello and relaxing with a plate of food. After attending graduate school out of state, all I wanted to do on my time off was chill, but with my family, it wasn't possible.

You see…I was Italian.

So what, you ask? What does that mean?

It means that my house was always filled with more people than it could fit. My parents and siblings lived there, but my mother's large Italian family was often over and practically moved in during the days leading up to Christmas Eve.

Christmas Eve. Most people celebrate Christmas on Christmas day. Not Italians. We celebrate on Christmas Eve. Festivities usually begin early in the morning with the women gathering in the kitchen to begin cooking dinner, which incidentally, was composed entirely of pasta and fish. Yes, we did as Jesus did and did not eat meat. While I'm sure there were a select few living in the Holy Land who still practiced this, I tended to think most Italians enjoyed a sausage on Christmas Eve. The no-meat dinner was so strictly enforced that one time my cousin Joey wanted to see what would happen if he brought meatballs to Christmas Eve. He smuggled them in via crock-pot, and when what was inside was unveiled, the elders broke out their rosary beads and holy water.

I knew before entering the house that the party would already be in full swing. Not only would the women be busy cooking and baking, but the men would be busy as well. They would be busy being ordered around by their wives. There were folding chairs to be set up, jars to be opened and last minute trips to the grocery store for missing ingredients.

One more deep breath, and I opened the front door, the flood of yelling and freshly baked bread overcoming my senses. Once I was spotted, I knew my work would just be beginning. First order of business was greeting my entire family. Greetings which included me hugging and kissing every one of my twenty-two aunts and uncles and over fifty cousins before I was allowed to take my coat off.

I knew I had walked in with a suitcase and a couple of bags of presents, but by the time I was done with my hello's, they had mysteriously left my hands and were replaced with a plate of antipasto. No matter how many times I tried to figure out how things like that happened, I couldn't. It was like magic.

I tried to find a spot to sit on one of the many ornate, plastic covered couches, but they were occupied by mostly non-English speaking relatives to whom I had no idea how I was related but always seemed to be around. After continuing to survey the area for a place to sit, I decided standing would be my best bet at the moment. I leaned up against the wall and balanced my plate of various cheeses, olives and marinated vegetables. Incidentally antipasto usually had a delicious mix of meats mixed it, but nope…it's Christmas Eve, no meat.

Kids were running around, some laughing and some crying. The crying ones were no doubt running from the murderous glares of their mothers and the wooden spoons they were holding. A random relative would stop by to chat me up while I held up the wall. An Uncle asked me about school and slipped me some cash followed by my Nonna shouting at me half in English, half in Italian. The only words I could make out were eat, get married and eat.

I silently contemplated whether I had time or not to sneak away to my bedroom for a quick nap. The afternoon would roll into the evening till we would all go to midnight mass together. I was exhausted from the ride in, and even a half hour would make me feel so much better. I set my plate down on the table and sprinted to the stairs. Taking the steps two at a time, I felt a wave of relief that my bedroom was just a few feet away.

I hurried into my bedroom only to find several children, small babies and toddlers sleeping in my bed. What the hell? Was no part of this house mine anymore?

With a deep sigh, I turned and walked out of my bedroom and wandered down the hall, wondering if there was a hidden spot somewhere. The door to my parent's bedroom was closed, but I decided to take a chance and see if anyone was in there. I cracked the door and peeked in.

My Uncle Anthony was standing in the middle of the room, his back to me, in his boxer shorts and white v-neck t-shirt. He was sporting black dress socks up to his knees, held up by sock suspenders. He obviously hadn't heard me open the door, and without even stopping to contemplate what the hell he was doing, I slowly and quietly closed the door.

Great. Now where do I go?

As I took in my options, I realized I didn't have any. Relaxation and a nap would have to wait. I made a stop at the bathroom before heading back downstairs, and as I was finishing my business, I realized how quiet and peaceful it was in there. There wasn't much thought behind what I did next because I was so exhausted, and that was the driving force.

I looked under the sink and grabbed a bunch of the tiny hand towels my mom used when company came over, but no one was ever allowed to actually wipe their hands on. I climbed into the bathtub and slowly lowered myself in, stretching out my legs as far as they would go. I leaned back slowly and positioned the towels behind my head to be used as a pillow. It wasn't the most comfortable or ideal spot, but for now, it served its purpose.

My mind and body drifted off to a place where Christmas was celebrated lounging around in your pajamas and sipping hot chocolate. Soft music floated throughout the house as we stared at the roaring fire and falling snow.

"DINNER!!!!!"

The screaming outside the door and subsequent bang on all the doors, using a wooden rolling pin nonetheless, jolted me out of my peaceful dreaming and back into reality.

"I SAID DINNERRRRR. NOWWWWWWW!!!" The voice continued to shriek.

I rolled my eyes to no one but myself and attempted to stand up, but my body was stiff from the nap in the tub. When I was able to get up, I stretched my arms above my head and stepped out of the tub. I grabbed the hand towels and threw them back under the sink unfolded. I was certain at some point my mother would discover the unfolded, never used, ever, hand towels and put whoever was around on trial for letting such an abomination occur.

I exited the bathroom and gave a quick look around. All seemed quiet and continued to be quiet as I walked down the stairs. There was only one explanation for the quiet.

The Basement.

You see, Christmas Eve was a multi-level event. Every Italian woman in my family had two kitchens. The kitchen she used everyday and a basement kitchen. During holidays and large get togethers, the amount of food being made was too much for one kitchen to handle. In those cases, the basement kitchen was utilized as well. Once all the food was done and it was time to eat, everything was transferred to the basement. Half the food would already be down there and if stove or oven was needed for anything additional, the extra kitchen was on hand.

As I made my way down the wooden stairs and low ceiling leading to the basement, my ears began to hurt from the noise level. It was not conversations. It was yelling. It was screaming over one another to see who could out scream the other.

The moment my foot landed on the cement floor of the basement, a glass of wine was thrusted into my hand. You didn't get a choice. There was always just one kind of wine. It wasn't classified as Cabernet or Merlot, it was simply homemade. A friend of an uncle knew a guy who brought it back from the old country.

A line had already formed to get to the food table. I never did take well to waiting, so I casually walked outside the line till I found someone I hadn't seen yet. When I spotted one of the 110 year old relatives, I decided she was perfect. After I gave her the standard hug and kiss, I roped her into conversation about her health and part time job as a funeral mourner till I fully wedged myself in at the front of the line. Of course, this caused a few hay's and yo's from the back of the line because I would obviously get my pick of the food first, but I didn't care. I was going to get my shrimp and manicotti ( it's pronounced maniGOT…if anyone tells you different, they aren't real Italians) first.

It took two Chinet's to gather all of my favorite foods. Once I was sure I got everything I wanted, I took a seat at one of the long banquet tables which were covered with red plastic tablecloths. I could be wrong, but I think the same ones were reused every year since the year I was born.

After the multiple prayers, both in English and Italian, and various announcements of engagements and pregnancy, we were allowed to eat. Everyone dove head first into their plates and didn't surface till it was time to refill. During that time, a quiet took over the room while everyone enjoyed their food. It truly was the only time during an event when my family's mouth's were open, but they weren't screaming.

Once dinner was complet; the men sat lazily on the metal folding chairs and rubbed their bellies while the women were getting things cleaned up. The clean up was only in preparation for Round 2.

Dessert.

The food tables were cleared to make way for trays upon trays of the finest baked goods imaginable. The women in my family began Christmas baking the day after Thanksgiving. Cannoli shells were made and frozen for later use, along with hundreds of other cookies and pastries. As the sweets were being laid out, the smell of espresso filled the room.

From the time of around seven p.m. till about eleven, things would get a little fuzzy. Everyone was so overly full, hyped up on sugar and slightly drunk from homemade wine that a controlled form of mass hysteria occured. Card games started which only evoked more yelling would start and often would included renditions of old Italian songs. Children had to be peeled off the ceiling from their sugar rushes and soon to be arrival of Santa. Some of the kids had thrown in the towel and were sleeping in various corners of the basement.

During this time, I made my rounds once again and talked to cousins I only got to see a few times a year: Christmas Eve, weddings and funerals. We talked about our lives while doing shots of Sambuca and having laughing fits over the crazy, old relatives. We'd reminisce about our childhoods and how so many of our memories were interwoven within the confines of this basement.

When the kids started singing Christmas carols, we knew Santa was on his way. They would break out in hysterics when they heard the ringing of his bells and thump of his boots coming down the stairs. Adults had their eyes peeled as well because playing Santa was always a very prestigious honor.

On this particular Christmas, I recognized Santa as my Uncle Anthony beneath the heavy white beard. He had all the children fooled who, by that time, were squealing in delight that Santa had arrived.

As I watched Santa Uncle Anthony begin to hand out gifts, it occurred to me why I saw him in my parents bedroom earlier half naked. He was trying on and getting the Santa costume all ready. He wanted to make sure everything was in place and perfect for the kids.

Wrapping paper was flying everywhere and the happy cries of the children filled the room when they unwrapped their presents. Santa always had a secret present for the adults as well, which only added to the joy felt in the room.

Once the dust and wrapping paper settled, we all bundled up and rushed to church for midnight mass. Considering there were roughly a hundred of us, it was like the parting of the red sea when we walked in. It was often difficult to find enough seats, but some how we always did, even if we had to squeeze together as tightly as possible.

Maybe it was the incense or perhaps all the Sambuca shots I drank, but a calm came over me powerfully as I sat in church with my family on this holy day. Yes, my family was loud and annoying. We had thousands of stupid traditions and endless lists of rules. We argued and screamed. We ate, and we drank homemade wine.

But they were my family.

They would be with me in good times and bad. Through laughter and tears, I knew someone would be there standing right by side. If someone were to hurt me, one of my buffoon cousins would hunt him down and threaten him within an inch of his life.

Exhausting at times? Yes.

Annoying? Absolutely.

Would I trade them for anything? Not in a million fucking years.