Issue link: http://southshoremagazine.uberflip.com/i/919874
29 Erica's childhood ambition was to become Olivia Newton- John, but instead she mediates for small claims court, writes, edits and co-hosts South Shore Live! on 95.9 WATD Monday nights. Erica graduated from the University of Michigan and Boston College Law School. "No, we just wake up and open them." "Everyone at the same time?" She looked at me funny. "Yes." "But then what do you do the rest of the day?" "We visit my grandma and open more gifts there. Then we have dinner at my cousins' house." I had never heard of such a thing. Utterly baffled, I told my brother the news when I got home: "Jennifer told me that her family leaves the house on Christmas." He looked out the window longingly. "Where do they go?" he whispered. "Apparently, they have grandparents and cousins they visit." We both let that novelty sink in. We had no cousins. Or aunts. I imagined a huge family singing around a grand piano, grinning nonstop, full of egg nog and good cheer and wassail. Meanwhile, the four of us were huddled together screaming "HAPPY CHRISTMAS! CAN YOU HEAR US?" over and over at a tin can phone contraption in Riyadh. "Jennifer also said that they are done opening all their gifts before breakfast," I told my brother. His eyebrows shot up. "That's impossible." "She swears it's true," I said. He just shook his head. By the time I had my own children, my mother had passed away. I had a new perspective on how hard my mother worked to honor the spirit of Christmas and make it special, when it would have been a lot easier for her to just let us sit in sweatpants and eat pre- packaged food off paper plates since it was "just us." My brother and I also had come to look with fondness upon our childhood Christmas anguish, and we carried on the tradition of agonizing torture and delayed gratification with our own families. It wasn't until we celebrated with my dad's new wife and family that I got to see a Christmas morning that didn't end on December 26th. This was a few years ago, and despite the fact that we were all at least 37 years old, my dad's wife bought her kids and my brother and I all identical pajamas for Christmas morning. My brother and I had never worn matching clothes in our entire lives. My mother had lived in West Germany during the building of the Berlin Wall and was as passionate about freedom and individuality as she was about fully-wrapped stocking stuffers. But I agreed to wear the pajamas, because I thought I could make some money selling the pics to the Awkward Family Photos people. I had barely had a cup of coffee when the children were told to go ahead and open the gifts. Children dove under the tree like hyenas taking down an antelope. My own kids hovered on the outskirts, confused and incredulous. "Here! Open your gifts!" someone hollered. Boxes flew. Adults were screaming directions with more gusto than the naval officers who got people onto Titanic lifeboats. When my children realized they could open all their gifts right then and there, their faces took on the ecstatic expression of Augustus Gloop when he discovered he could literally stick his face into a chocolate river. Shards of paper flew into the air and I had to avert my eyes. Merchandise exploded around the room, but I had no idea what belonged to whom. My 40-year-old brother and I stood silently in our matching jammies until the carnage was over. His face had gone pale. Gift-giving had taken six minutes and 43 seconds. Toys, bags, ripped paper and ribbons were everywhere. The living room looked like it needed to be read the Last Rites. It was 8:26 a.m. One of my daughters walked over to me. Her face was flushed and her eyes spun like Hitchcockian spirals. "I didn't really like that," she slurred. "Don't worry, honey," I told her. "Next year we won't let you open anything until Three Kings' Day." She sighed happily. *Please, give yourself a treat and search YouTube for Tom Selleck's Chaz commercial. TheSouthShoreMagazine.com