Why, if you don’t mind my asking, were they so against her?
I have nothing whatsoever to add to this thread, so at the risk of being contradictory, I won’t.
After reading all your stories, mime sounds pretty lame. I was 11 (yes, that old!) when I found out Santa didn’t exist. I was very sheltered and naive, and still played with dolls at an age when most girls are already sneaking lip gloss to school and beginning to kiss boys (I didn’t get my first kiss till I was 19.) Also, I didn’t grasp that my parents, being recent immigrants, were having a hard time making ends meet and still celebrating Christmas with 5 kids to feed. So anyway, I wanted a cowgirl Barbie with a horse for Christmas that year. I ended up getting an off-brand fake Barbie with a cheap outfit, and started to cry. That was when my parents took me aside, away from my siblings, and told me they couldn’t afford to get me a real Barbie and still get decent gifts for the other 4 kids. That didn’t disappoint me as much as the fact that Santa Claus didn’t exist and parents were the ones who bought presents. I wanted so desperately to believe that magical stuff like Santa existed, and I guess some tiny part of me still does.
Then there was November of '97. (I may have told this story in a previous thread.) I started having abdominal pains the weekend before Thanksgiving, but chalked it up to indigestion. On the Tuesday before Thanksgiving, the pain became unbearable, so my parents took me to a clinic in East LA, where the doctor asked me, point blank, whether I was pregnant and unwilling to admit it. I was 100% sure that I was not - I understand he may have encountered that fairly often, but it was very much not the case with me. I ended up at County hospital, where I was diagnosed with appendicitis and spent the next day or so, including Thanksgiving, in an observation ward with several indigent folks like myself, including a homeless guy with a hernia who was constantly howling in pain. While my folks were having Thanksgiving dinner with my then-newborn niece and my great-aunt, whom I haven’t seen since, I was having a CT scan and puking contrast solution all over the side of the machine and the poor technician as well. I never did get my appendix out, since the antibiotics took care of that, but the doctors did find out I had some large uterine fibroids, which have led to no end of trouble for me, and several useless treatments - at least I was able to get pregnant once, in spite of them, and consider my little girl a miracle. I’m having a hysterectomy a week from now, which I purposely scheduled for the week after Thanksgiving so at least I can be up and about by Christmas, if all goes well.
Oh yeah, and I almost forgot the Christmas day my ex and I spent in a hospital waiting room after his grandmother had a heart attack earlier that morning. All his relatives from his dad’s side of the family were there, and they played with my daughter while my ex and I took turns visiting his grandmother. We ended up having Christmas dinner with his parents at Denny’s. She survived the heart attack, but since she already had Alzheimer’s, she took a turn for the worse and passed away the following February. Her husband followed a year or so later, and we spent Easter of that year at his viewing. For me, the fact that I appreciated and loved these people, who had been so kind to me, sometimes kinder than my own grandmother (long story), overrode any consideration of the holidays being ruined.
Well, good luck with your operation next week!
My dad was in the hospital during Thanksgiving time. We sat down to dinner attempting to preserve some family traditions when the hospital called and asked us to come immediately. He had just died. The holiday has never been the same. He had been in for 3 weeks.
I feel whiny sharing mine, but I will anyway.
Scene: my sixteenth birthday. It’s actually Memorial Day, so it’s a holiday aside from that. My mom has the day off. My dad says he has to work; this is not at all unusual. So my mom packs up my sister and me and takes us to Six Flags: Great America. We have fun riding the rides–this was when I was super into roller coasters and was making up for 13 years of having been terrified of them–and seeing shows. Afterwards, we go to Gurnee Mills, since it has a Rainforest Cafe, and sit down for a late lunch/early dinner.
As we’re being served, the phone rings. It’s my dad. He’s pissed that we’re not home, and pissed that we’re doing stuff without him, that we’re having dinner. This despite the fact that he said that he had to work, which usually means he’s not home until after dinner. Despite the fact that he didn’t usually show up for most holidays anyway. I could hear him yelling through my mom’s cell phone, even though I was on the other side of the table.
The rest of the meal was hurriedly eaten, and then we drove the just-over-an-hour home; everyone in the car was tense and afraid. My dad was waiting for us, and he immediately laid into my mom. Not hitting–as far as I know, he never laid a hand on her–but he was yelling, insulting, throwing things, and she was trying to protest. Sometimes getting a slight shout back, but mostly being beaten down.
I couldn’t take it, so I called my best friend who lived up the street and told her that I was coming over, and started walking there barefoot. My parents must have heard me leave, because my dad drove up and demanded that I get into the car, which I did because, you know, he was my dad, and I was a kid. Whereupon he commenced yelling at me and my mom for an extended period of time.
You got yelled at for having a sixteenth birthday? 
I don’t think that’s whiny at all.
** pulls up a chair for Angel **
Come, sit, join us.
Thank you! Right now I’m doing some serious cleaning of my room, as a prelude to getting everything ready for my operation - clothes washed and ironed for the Princess to wear to school, groceries bought, etc. I want to leave everything done in advance so that I can rest afterward as much as possible in a clean, organized bedroom. All my relatives are at my sister’s cooking, and I’m home cleaning before I can join them for dinner. Let’s see what drama happens, and who walks out in a huff later.
Ah, yes, operations. I had my second shoulder surgery on Thanksgiving Day two years ago.
I was just playing scrabble with my family after this thanksgiving dinner. My mom is pretty bad at scrabble and set my sister up (who is a veritable wordsmith) up with 4 triple word score bonuses with which she crushed me.
I ended up crying in the kitchen at one point this Thanksgiving while making dinner for people. I was stressed, didn’t want to host this year, my husband and his sister were arguing over what she was bringing (she was supposed to bring some kind of appetizer but was going to bring pie we didn’t need after her dad said he wanted sweet potato pie - she ended up bringing chips, dip, and pate, and no pie), my father-in-law had been telling various family members about what he wanted on the menu without even consulting me. At that point I was desperately missing the no-stress Thanksgiving of the year before with just my mom, my sister, and each of our husbands; no arguing, and we went out to eat at a Thanksgiving buffet.
I told my husband when I was making dinner that if there was any arguing, that person could leave. He stopped as if struck by the idea, and said that was a great plan.
My father-in-law started in on one of his daughters immediately after she walked in our door, criticizing her about something for no good reason (I think it was over her job; I was cooking at the time). My husband intervened, and after the distraction attempt didn’t work, he said “no stress today, those who cause stress eat on the front porch or go home.” His dad just laughed, and then my husband insisted that he was serious. So, that worked, at least for that day.
I ache all over from the stress and effort, but I survived.
And the pie thing? Every year people bring what dish they say they will - and a pie. Or two. Every year I get stuck with lots of extra pies because no one eats the goddamned pie. This year I said only one person could bring pie; we had three pies for 18 people, and we had leftover a pie and a quarter.
Well yeah, clearly this is because you had no sweet potato pie! 
At 5:15 yesterday as I literally had my hand on the door to start putting my bags and the dog in the car, Mom called to cancel Thanksgiving because my sister was just shipped off in an ambulance to the hospital.
But to be honest, I didn’t mind too much. It was raining and dark and I didn’t feel like a 3 hour drive. I’ll see Mom some other time.
Duchene’s dystrophy. My Dad wad 53 when he died and his only physical symptoms at the time were the toes on his leather shoes were starting to curl upwards because of muscular weakness starting in his feet. We didn’t pick up on that until years later. Most who are born with MD die by their 20’s. My family just got the suckend of the poop on a stick. The last brother, #4, is 50 and in a nursing home now. Mom is going blind and has had several small strokes. I’m going to have to make a decision soon for her that will shatter both of us. She’s still withit upstairs. Family get togethers are Gods Waiting Room. Its fucking depressing.
Do anniversaries count?
On our eighth anniversary of the day we met (this was our big anniversary, as the justice-of-the-peace wedding was a formality), I scheduled a job interview and my husband took the day off to hang with our infant daughter. We had plans to have lunch together and then for my MIL to come over later so we could have a romantic dinner, etc.
September 11 is a holiday, now. Sort of. And instead of our great plans for the day, I spent most of the afternoon trying to track down my dad, who wasn’t answering his cell and was one of the only people in his utility company OKed to work at the Pentagon. And vacillating between terror, anger and confusion…
Angel of the Lord: So did you move out of the house when you could? Do you still speak to your Dad?
After my MIL’s health started failing, it looked like our family was no longer going to gather for Thanksgiving. Then, my husband’s brother came up with a plan to host it at his house along with his wife’s standoffish (that’s putting it nicely) family. It took me forever to convince my husband to go. My own family fell apart when I was 13, and I didn’t want to lose the traditional gathering that I had enjoyed as a child.
When we got there, they had two tables set. One was for everyone in our family that made her family feel “uncomfortable” - My Mother-in-law (because she was an invalid), and my son (because he’s autistic), My Father-in-Law (to help feed my MIL), and me (to help my son). My husband got so mad, I thought he was going to have a stroke.
I got a phone call at work at 2:30pm this Thanksgiving from the 911 dispatcher. The medics were on their way to my house to pick up Mr Kitty, who’d managed to call them after several hours of struggling to breathe. By 8pm he was intubated and on his way from the local hospital to his home-away-from-home, UAB. He’s in the ICU now.
My birthday (September) this year was spent in the ICU (every 2.5 hours I got to go in for 30 minutes) taking dictation (and I use that term loosely, considering how out of it he was and how much the bipap mask interfers with clear speaking) from him regarding additions to his will.
Can’t wait to see how Christmas pans out!!
Great mental image! 
It’s just unlucky timing I guess with accidents and illness when they fall on holidays or special occasions… not much you can do about that, and fortunately I haven’t experienced any on the type that then really sour an occasion for the future.
My father-in-law did have a stroke on one of his birthdays – which then dramatically altered plans for the day – but his subsequent birthdays (the fact that he’s had some) have made up for it…
I had a birthday a few years back that I can’t really recall because I was in hospital with a fractured skull from the jet-ski accident two days earlier…
And last Christmas was a wee bit trying in our house as my wife had badly broken an ankle shortly beforehand. At her work Christmas party no less. (No, on the way in to the event). [We just attended this year’s party and some of her work-mates applauded when she made it into the venue without incident]. 
Reading through the childhood disappointments though, yeah, they’re the silly little things that seem to end up sticking with you for years, aren’t they? I can still recall such events 30+ years later… pretty lame and trivial in the big scheme of things, but they stung at the time.
The most memorable is that growing up we had a tradition that on your birthday you got to choose a treat, usually a movie or dinner somewhere cheap and cheerful – my folks weren’t terribly well off – and I remember one year I’d chosen a pancake restaurant… we don’t have IHOP here, but I’m guessing about that classy. My brother and I must have been squabbling and driving my parents mad as we tried to get ready to go out – more my brother’s fault than mine; I’m completely certain of this point – and my father declared that the trip was off and we wouldn’t be going out… which meant no birthday dinner and effectively, in my kid-mind at least, no birthday celebration. 
Not that I’m still bitter at my father over this you understand… but one of these days I may get to select a retirement venue for him… 
I hate my job so much that actually, all these stories of surgeries actually sound appealing. Yay, if I had to have surgery I wouldn’t have to work, legitemately, and I could stay in bed and be pampered and reread old Agatha Christie novels! I would gladly endure most kinds of pain (with painkillers) for that. I’d volunteer to get another cesarean or another gastric bypass if that meant staying off work and in bed two weeks or more.
Sad. I really need to find another job, or (because that is the real problem) develop better work skills. Or marry a rich husband and get to be a sahm. Neither of which is going to happen any time soon.
.. 'ss Okay. Lame holiday memories. How about my tenth birthday? My parents took me and a bunch of classmates that I didn’t particularly like to a playground. We all went off a rather high slide, and my mom stood at the bottom to catch us. My ineffective mom. So before I could fall off the slide and into her uncapable hands, I jumped off the slide near the end. I fell, came down wrong and fractured my collarbone. Dad brought me to the hospital, mom brought the party to a good ending for the other kids.
Getting a migraine Christas Eve 1982. Our family celebrated (open gifts) at Christmas Eve (not Christmas Day), so that particular evening sucked. Sitting through Christmas Eve church service with a throbbing head didn’t help matters.
Having norovirus Christmas Eve 2002 was probably just as bad. Puking and sitting non-stop in the bathroom is not festive.