'Holiday Entrapment': It's The Thought That Counts

You've probably heard the phrase, "It's the thought that counts."

That's the theme of a holiday series we're bringing you this month, because 'tis the season for a number of holiday traditions and the complicated feelings they come with, even if you're not celebrating anything in particular.

We're acknowledging all of that with some personal essays from the KUOW staff.

In our fourth essay, Seattle Now supervising producer Caroline Chamberlain Gomez takes us back to her family's favorite holiday celebration — or as she calls it, her family's "Christmas decorating labor exploitation scheme."

Holiday Entrapment

Every year, my grandparents hosted a Christmas tree decorating party. My parents, three sisters and I drove over to Grandpa Richard and Grandma Gail’s house and decorated their tree. This was a holiday tradition, and as the best holiday traditions go, it always started the same way.

We’d go to their house late in the morning, greeted by the sound of that same Christmas record they always played.

We’d indulge in refreshments that Grandma Gail laid out for us: soda, pickled herring and thin-crust pizza from Domino’s.

There’d be a bare tree in the living room, towering above boxes of ornaments, awaiting a crew of young decorators to transform it into a festive holiday tree.

But the most unmistakable part of this tradition was not the togetherness nor the tree; it was the feeling of dread that accompanied it.

Because this party was not really a party.

It was Christmas decorating entrapment.

My sisters and I were not there to be grandchildren. We were workers. Domino’s was our wage, and that tree our solemn duty. We were to trim that tree under the watchful eye of Grandpa Richard. And if we strayed from the task, Grandpa Richard would get us in line.

I can still hear him now, teeming with Scandinavian rage.

When one of us took an unauthorized break, he’d bellow, “TRIM!” I never understood the urgency, but I complied.

This went on for years, and my sisters and I always hated going. As we got older and went to college, we found ways of getting out of it. My older sister and I would use our winter break schedule as an excuse. This worked for a while. But there are four of us. By sister number three, my grandma was on to us.

And Gail, a ruthless Scorpio, does not play.

In this Christmas decorating labor exploitation scheme, my grandpa was the demanding floor manager, and Grandma Gail, the enforcer.

And she was onto us.

One year, she called sister number three. They caught up. Grandma asked how she was doing, and as always, invited her to the party

Sister number three, she waffled: “You know, I’m really not sure if I can go. You know, I have some things going on. I have to check my finals schedule.”

“Well,” said Grandma Gail with a smirk, “ I already called your school.”

Sister number three’s jaw dropped.

“I know when your break starts and ends,” Grandma Gail said confidently. “You’ll be able to make it.”

A lot has changed since then.

Years have passed. My parents divorced. Grandma Gail is no longer with us, and neither is that tree decorating party.

As for me and my sisters, we’re still figuring out ways to get out of things. And while I don’t condone my grandparents’ tactics, I do think they meant well.

I think my grandpa thought he was preparing us for the real world. It’s quite possible I owe my career in journalism to his efficiency and respect for tight deadlines. And I think my grandma just wanted to spend time together, which is a sentiment I understand only too well now that she’s gone.

I’ve slowly forged new Christmas traditions, which mostly involve re-watching all my favorite Christmas movies.

But every year, when I’m decorating my own tree, I still think of them and that party.

I hope I can figure out — in my own way that doesn’t involve barking orders or calling the University of Puget Sound’s front office — a way of showing the ones I love I’ll do whatever it takes to spend time with them.