Thanksgiving

"I'm sorry?"

The grey faux-granite of the kitchen counter has a sheen of dried soap. I watch the flicker as the politically-correct compact fluorescent bulb alters the texture of the matte. The kitchen, no matter how orderly, is never clean.

"I said, are you OK?" Jessica has had furled concern in the corners of her eyes since we left my Mom's.

"Yeah, I guess," I reply. "Whatever." With this cold slap of passive-aggressive, I shut down the one meaningful, loving conversation I might have had today.

I defocus. My eyes no longer converge see the Corian surface, lining up instead in parallel tracks through the center of the earth, never converging.

I'm in the Monet fire of Braid. What would Tim do?

---

Earlier. I sit at the aged dining room table. This table and I are not friends. When I was five, I tripped over one of the grotesque lions marking its feet, breaking my leg in three places. It is a 25-year stalemate. It won't kill me. I won't find the axe in the shed outside and reduce it to stained-oak kindling.

The table shakes under the weight of the obese factory-bird. It will deliver its gift of salmonella into my unsuspecting gut momentarily. The air is sour with brussel sprouts and canned cranberry.

I should be full of love--my family is here, my favorite nieces, my sister, my mom. Even the stepfather, a man I prayed for just a year ago, his body in declining torpor in an ill-managed hospital. But there is too much tension in the room, even before the ritual of awkward Thanksgiving conversation.

The table sits.

"Can we say grace?" my mother asks. My jaw opens just a bit, an involuntary, minute homage to cartoon surprise. Since his recovery, the stepfather has rebelled against the stereotypical return to faith common in the aging and infirm and those who have seen death. Instead, he's resorted to a form of militant atheism designed to douse even the most casual agnostic in scientific shame.

My four-year-old son is too small to choke on the tense smoke filling the house at adult height. He soldiers on, delivering a rote prayer.

Sick pink meat travels down the table.

"I don't think it's underdone at all. It's just moist."

My well meaning sister, at my left. She's wrong. The wet flesh on my plate is evil. I push the offense into my abdomen, a decision I will regret tomorrow.

I close my eyes, grasping for escape, incongruously finding the wastelands of Fallout 3.

The green-and-black of my Pip-Boy readout indicates contamination, my pixelated doppelganger's face humorously unwell. Examining the plate in front of me, my VATS targeting overlay descends, percentages indicating the areas of highest bacterial concentration.

This calms me. It occurs to me, although briefly, that this is not a healthy reaction to American holiday tradition.

Inane conversation sputters around me. I do not participate. I have better things to do. I have left my hunter alone in the Arathi Highlands. She needs training. I construct the talent tree I feel will finally bring her more quickly to the endgame of World of Warcraft. I have not yet mastered playing a hunter.

"Well, I don't understand why she didn't just have an abortion."

I return from Azeroth to see that my stepfather has descended into angry stupidity. He has been discussing the fate of his 19-year old grand-daughter. In the course of 15 minutes, the table has discovered for the first time that she is pregnant. We learn that my born-again stepsister talked her into keeping the baby. The four, seven, and nine-year-old children sitting at the table seem temporarily oblivious to this inappropriate fork in the conversation.

I stand up.

"Does anyone want more wine?" I say this too loudly, and with a tone of voice that I hope communicates "Shut the f*ck up, you tired, inconsiderate old man. I don't even disagree with you, but you're an ass for saying it, and saying it in front of my children."

I'm fairly sure I fail. Falling silent, I play the conversation mini-game from Oblivion, choosing the "intimidate" option, over and over again. The washed-brown, uncanny face of my opponent remains grim and unyielding.

An hour passes.

There is pie.

The inequitable division of said pie inspires pre-teen hormone-rage within my daughter. She runs from the table in tears. I have no skills with which to deal with the multiple failures of the evening. I quickly exercise an unspoken marital veto, and escort my entire family from the house.

We travel home in silence. Children are unceremoniously deposited in beds.

---

"You need to calm down."

Nobody else would look at my immobile exterior and my center-of-the-earth stare and see anything but calm. Jessica, as always, sees well below the surface.

I return to the basement. I return to the more forgiving and controlled world of vision and sound and interface and tidy save-games and virtual friends who won't see the blood-flushed skin under the permastubble or indoctrinate my children without consent.

What would Tim do?

Launching Braid, I try and find out. I hit rewind over and over again, replaying each section that fails to meet my expectations. I throw myself against the game, rejecting the real, hoping that this time, this time, this time I will get it right

Comments

Hobbes2099 wrote:

I never thought I'd enjoy one of your articles as much as I did Best Buy Bodhisattva. I've never been so happy for being wrong.

Sorry to hear about the Clash of the In-Laws and the salmonella aftermath.

Ditto. Although I'm not sure 'enjoy' is quite the word I'd pick... I appreciated it as a fantastic piece of writing, but that makes it even more of a downer.

The really bright counterpoint that jumped out at me from your article is the obvious strength of your relationship with Jessica (your wife, I assume?). It's funny that even though you only mention her twice, there's a lot conveyed with what you said - or rather, what you implied. Even with the salmonella, you're a lucky man!

rabbit wrote:

There is pie.

Fortunately, there was no cake.

On a serious note... thank you for sharing and verbalizing such a personal experience in your life. I'm very sorry to hear that you had such an unpleasant holiday.

Sonicator wrote:

The really bright counterpoint that jumped out at me from your article is the obvious strength of your relationship with Jessica (your wife, I assume?). It's funny that even though you only mention her twice, there's a lot conveyed with what you said - or rather, what you implied. Even with the salmonella, you're a lucky man!

She was on the podcast AGES ago. Points for someone finding the link.

rabbit wrote:

Nobody else would look at my immobile exterior and my center-of-the-earth stare and see anything but calm.Jessica, as always, sees well below the surface.

these two sentences are so powerful. I REALLY loved this article!!!

Also, I find it quite amusing how the way you write and the way you talk (podcasts) are not even similar.

I can only write how I talk.

Why is it that the only stories I've heard about thanksgiving sound like they sucked? I live in New Zealand so I really have no idea what thanksgiving is like, but it sounds like I may be lucky.

Also, you should of slipped something in about a game by Bioware just to complete the triangle of American RPG companies that start with the letter 'B'.

Purple_Haze wrote:

Why is it that the only stories I've heard about thanksgiving sound like they sucked? I live in New Zealand so I really have no idea what thanksgiving is like, but it sounds like I may be lucky.

Because Thanksgiving is generally an awful holiday.

Great, keep writing like that and we'll lose you to The Escapist, too. Are you people never sated?!

ColdForged wrote:

Great, keep writing like that and we'll lose you to The Escapist, too. Are you people never sated?!

No, no... that's Rabbit's curse. He writes so well that he's too good for any mere traditional outlet. They can't contain the talent and after imbibing too much of Rabbit's articles they wither and die..... Gamers With Jobs is avant garde enough that his articles cannot consume and overwhelm the site.... it's one of those paradoxes that we try and understand but just end up accepting as 'the truth'.

I don't think anyone get's "lost" to the Escapist. We still get our Elysium, Fly, and Kat infections on a pretty regular basis (grin).

Purple_Haze wrote:

Why is it that the only stories I've heard about thanksgiving sound like they sucked? I live in New Zealand so I really have no idea what thanksgiving is like, but it sounds like I may be lucky.

Thanksgiving is all about bringing together extended family. And there isn't a family in the world that gets along swimmingly. There are always topics that need to be avoided, past drama that people hope won't resurface, etc. The compensation for all of this--what makes the occasion worth repeating each year--is pie. I feel your pain, little girl.

IMAGE(http://img2.timeinc.net/ew/img/review/011214/twin_l.jpg)

complexmath wrote:

Thanksgiving is all about bringing together extended family. And there isn't a family in the world that gets along swimmingly.

With the exception of one person, everyone in my extended family gets along exceptionally well. Even that one person has never caused anything worse than an argument at a family dinner (not a shouting match either, just a regular argument). I cannot recall a single Thanksgiving dinner that I didn't enjoy. I'm not saying we're all best friends, but we can certainly sit down to dinner together without it becoming a major ordeal.

Are we freaks? Stereotypically polite Canadians? I don't know. I just thought I'd provide a counterpoint to all the horror stories.

rabbit wrote:
Sonicator wrote:

The really bright counterpoint that jumped out at me from your article is the obvious strength of your relationship with Jessica (your wife, I assume?). It's funny that even though you only mention her twice, there's a lot conveyed with what you said - or rather, what you implied. Even with the salmonella, you're a lucky man!

She was on the podcast AGES ago. Points for someone finding the link.

Episode 52! It was right after I started listening to the podcast (in the episode 50 dreamy Ken Levine spectacular). I think I might have to re-listen to it actually -- I didn't have a very good handle on who was who back then.

I love this article, too. It's not like we didn't have coping mechanisms before the advent of games -- I'm sure we've all wished we could have comic book superpowers to deal with awkward moments, or daydreamed out a nearby window to avoid them -- but it's interesting to see how gaming influences our perception of reality, and vice-versa. I love Braid for much the same reason.

Wow, the worst I had to deal with at Thanksgiving was a father who dropped a knife point-first on his beloved hardwood kitchen floor. (He has a vocal temper.)

Quintin_Stone wrote:

Wow, the worst I had to deal with at Thanksgiving was a father who dropped a knife point-first on his beloved hardwood kitchen floor. (He has a vocal temper.)

My dad dropped the turkey a couple years back (the giant forks he was using to lift it out of the pan and onto the platter got caught). That's the worse I can think of, and it made everyone laugh. My family (thankfully) is able to keep conversations civil at holiday get-togethers (regular get-togethers are a different beast though).

My grandmother famously said to my grandfather upon his proposal "Okay then, but one rule: NO politics at the dinner table!"

Two generations further it still works like a charm. My grandmother is a genius

Reading this was like someone burning a memory into my brain. Impressive.

rabbit wrote:

Nobody else would look at my immobile exterior and my center-of-the-earth stare and see anything but calm.Jessica, as always, sees well below the surface.

Dr. Horrible wrote:

And sometimes, there's a third, even deeper level. And that one is the same as the top surface one ... like with pie.

It all comes back to pie.

Hobbes2099 wrote:

Also, I find it quite amusing how the way you write and the way you talk (podcasts) are not even similar.

I can only write how I talk.

A lot of people can't manage to write like they speak. Usually that's a bad thing. Rabbit writes and speaks well, but I assure you he has the ability to swap registers.

Purple_Haze wrote:

Why is it that the only stories I've heard about thanksgiving sound like they sucked?

Nobody likes hearing about how wonderful other people's lives are. That's why Rabbit had to put all that horrible stuff in to counter-balance all that "my wife is wonderful" stuff.

PS: My life is pretty fantastic. Just thought you should know.

wordsmythe wrote:

Rabbit writes and speaks well, but I assure you he has the ability to swap registers.

Boy, does he ever! You distract the cashier with the old shirt, tie, and g-string ploy, and Rabbit is swapping out the register before they know what hits them. A quick "look, Elvis!" provides the get-away opening, and it's into the pink Cadillac for the escape.

LobsterMobster wrote:

It's the part about the pie that got to me.

That's because pie is delicious. And before I go off the rails on this crazy post, once again, suberbly done rabbit.

LobsterMobster wrote:

I don't much like kids (no offense to all parents here, I'm not saying you're wrong for having a kid, I respect and admire your ability to connect with and handle children which is a skill I completely lack).

Before I married my wife, who came with two kids as a free bonus, I thought the opposite of myself. I taught kids in Sunday school at church, and did fairly well with it. For the most part, they listened to me, respected me, all that jazz. Shoot, even my wife's kids did that. Then I started living with them all the time and found that I was very, very wrong. I have no special talent or way with kids. The reason is because nobody really has a way with kids. Some rare specimens are gifted with far more patience than I'll ever have, but that's about it.

So take heart, it's not just you. Nobody has that skill inborn, some of us are just more adept at learning it.

wordsmythe wrote:
Purple_Haze wrote:

Why is it that the only stories I've heard about thanksgiving sound like they sucked?

Nobody likes hearing about how wonderful other people's lives are. That's why Rabbit had to put all that horrible stuff in to counter-balance all that "my wife is wonderful" stuff.

PS: My life is pretty fantastic. Just thought you should know.

Ditto.

We used to have my extended family over for Thanksgiving years ago. They were aggravating, but only in that "they're all here, and they won't go to a hotel" sense (nobody in my extended family lives closer than 150 miles from my home). A few years back, there was a falling out that had nothing to do with turkey or prenatal care. The problem of uncomfortable Thanksgivings was solved by simply not having them over anymore. I have two Thanksgivings dinners per year these days-- but none of them involve more than seven people at a time, and we all get along fairly well. I even like my Mother in law.

That means no uncomfortable moments, and lots of pie for everyone.

The secret to getting along with family is simple: Only associate with the family you get along with.

If you want to be subtle about it, do what Dear Old Dad did: Just cook a turkey breast for thanksgiving, rather than a whole turkey. Dear Old Dad's theory is "If you cook it, they will come." So we don't cook as much of it, and son of a gun if not as many of them come.

PS: Lest you think I'm some sort of monster, I haven't cut them off. They were invited to my wedding, we still exchange cards for birthdays and holidays, and I have strapped my wife and 18 month old daughter into the car for the eight hour drive it takes to visit them. We just don't eat turkey together.

PPS: My family holds a patent on grudges, though. I believe my father developed a special messenger bag for bearing them around-- you used to be able to get them at LLBean. And if anyone in my extended family had made a point of being a jackass and made my daughter cry... well, let's just say we wouldn't be spending a lot of time eating off the same china patterns in the future. Family are like body parts: Sometimes the relationship becomes toxic enough that you have to cut them off.

AnimeJ wrote:

Nobody really has a way with kids. Some rare specimens are gifted with far more patience than I'll ever have, but that's about it.

Amen.