Intro to Parents 202...

Previously on Confessions of a Male Bridezilla, CJ McBridezilla found himself celebrating his holidays with his old family members and soon-to-be new family members, unbeknownst to even them. And while our bride has met the masses, Trevor has yet to look his future in the face...

The next time that parental introductions would occur would be one month later as the holiday season came to a close, culminating into that one day for which all mini-malls, super-centers, and village bars celebrate: Christmas. Oh, Christmas, the sound of Capitalism Carols in the air. Anyway, as my family is what one would consider "broken," Trevor was to find himself smack dab in all things CJ, not once, but twice. First up, would be the very large and loud gathering at my Aunt and Uncle's home.

Let me start at the end of the story by telling you first, that Trevor survived. The holiday merriment that he experienced was very different from what I was accustomed to. Christmas, for me growing up, had always consisted of going to my Grandma and Grandpa's ranch-style abode. There would be a small gathering with presents, Bing Crosby's "White Christmas," and White Zinfadel by the box. It was small, but it was, in a word, merry. For twenty years, the holiday spirit had meaning for me. For twenty years, I enjoyed the ritual of Christmas. But, in December of 2001, our holiday goings-on changed. Truthfully, Christmas died. I do not intend this as a provacative statement against religion, but as a small truth that has defined me for the better part of this decade. You see, Jim McBride, my grandfather, always made the holidays, not only bearable, but damned-right enjoyable. He loved to be surrounded by his family. And he loved to give gifts; great gifts that were always perfect for the recipient. In October 2001, Jim McBride's health had started to decline. In November, we canceled Thanksgiving due to his hospitalization and by the beginning of December, he was dead.

So flash forward to 2008, where Trevor was going to be initiated into the new McBride tradition. The new tradition brought about new festivities and among these new traditions was the beautiful blending of families. Big families. Big, loud families. Big, loud families with lots of loud children. Lots of raucous-ass children. My Uncle and my Aunt were the new hosts of Christmas, bringing her family (brothers, sisters, parents, nieces and nephews) to our family. My aunt had spent loads of time making the food and planning the festivities with all the traditional fixings: tree, stockings, and presents, presents, presents!

Trevor and I promptly arrived at 1:00 behind my Grandma, my Father, and Donna, my Dad's long-time girlfriend. The introduction occurred in the driveway. As I had already been called a vapid-whore over cranberry sauce, I was sure that this meeting was to be especially memorable. As it turned out, everyone was completely cordial and pleasant. We walked into the house and were greeted with wonderful smelling food and loads upon loads of noise. Chit-chat, banter, screaming, and crying. A very merry XMAS to all.

If there is one thing to be counted on with my family, it is that there will always be a bountiful amount of liquor at any family gathering. Today, would be no different. As we entered the house, I made an immediate left hand turn into the kitchen to scope out the large pot of brewing coffee and the Bailey's Caramel Liquor that I had brought with me, stashed in my stylish, yet affordable purse from White House, Black Market.

As I made my way to the coffee pot, I became aware of two horrifying facts. One: there was no coffee brewing and the coffee maker that they owned look like something out of Star Trek; all futuristic and terrifying. And two: it dawned on me that my Uncle Rob's house had recently made the cover of the Peoria Journal Star for having a very large Black Widow Spider infestation on his lot. So here's me, sober without an immediate cure, in a home that, although treated, was home to my worst nightmare...ever. Because I can't just freak out in my head all alone like a normal or even sane person, I let Trevor in on my discovery. Being the problem solver that he is, he figured out the coffee maker and let me quietly sit in the corner doing shots of Bailey's Caramel Liquor straight out of the bottle.

Newly armed with my good friend Bailey, I began to simmer down into a coma-like lull. There were polite conversations abound with the usual questions surrounding new partnerships.
"Where are you from?", "What do you do?", and so on and so forth. He was pleasant and assured. He passed every test with remarkable ease and comfort. If he was nervous, they never knew it. And here's the best part: the only negative feedback I received on him was that he was a little quiet. FABULOUS! They had nothing to nitpick, or rip apart. He passed all of the family nonsense with flying colors.

Just as the present-opening extravaganza began to wind down, we said our goodbyes and happy holidays and fled the scene like a couple of bandits in the night headed straight for I74 East. We hopped across the river and went on over to his parents house for their evening of present-giving. I sat quietly and watched the Thompson family laugh and joke over presents and old times like a scene from "The Homecoming: A Walton's Family Christmas". Mom and Dad ushering out gifts and the granddaughter, Madison grabbing individual stockings from the mantle. As an outsider I can honestly say, Christmas was brought back to me, a small bit.

Trevor's next family fiasco involved the ever-lovable, mostly zany Patten family, my Mom's brew. Something to note about the Patten family: we are caricatures of real people a lot of the time. You know, like the normal picture of you with some feature greatly exaggerated to bring out the funniest part of you. Only, as beautiful people, the exaggeration is found in the personality, rather than the physical. For instance, Aunt Jamie: loud and raucous. Aunt Karen: aloof and nonchalant. Nana: talkative, for days...

My Mom, unable to come down for the actual holiday, had decided that she would pop down for a visit following Christmas. Trevor's eldest brother Josh was also in town visiting from Phoenix, AZ and was hanging out with his little brother for the day. Fate would have the cold winds from the Northern Chicago air collide with the balmy currents of Phoenix right over 803 W. Corrington Ave for a meeting that I wouldn't soon be forgetting.

The meeting was casual. My Mom, Aunt Karen, Nana and a couple of my cousins sitting around my Christmas Tree with Trevor and Josh. All was going well with the telling of stories and a mimosa and then it happened. My ever-aloof, ever-nonchalant Aunt Karen brings up my Mom's 3rd husband. What happened next was merely proof that the good Lord has a sense of humor. The glorious tale of her flight from his grasp commenced.

The year was 2000. My Mom had recently been married to man she was dating for a good eight years. They had decided that they were going to move to Gold Canyon, AZ for his retirement and her life. They sold their home in Chicago, loaded up a 30-foot UHaul and began the 2000 mile journey across the US of A. The back story, which Trevor and Josh were unaware of, goes that he wasn't a very nice man. He was controlling, domineering, and outright mean. Mom had been having misgivings about making the trek and beginning anew for a while but kept putting off the talk that should have preceded the move. So, all loaded up and on their way to Arizona, my non-confrontational mom in all her eloquence pulled into a gas station, dialed his cell phone number and told him that it was over. That's right. My Mom eighty-sixed her beau at the local Gas-n-Gulp, leaving herself homeless and unemployed. As all children do, she retreated to Bartonville to stay with her mom and began to rebuild her life, which did not nor nor would it ever, include a newly built home in the middle of Arizona.

Don't get me wrong. The story itself isn't much more than hopefully hilarious. But the telling of that tale in front of my now brother-in-law-to-be was mortifying. The one terrible thought began to creep into my head: does he think I'm going to do the same thing? to his baby brother? Not at all, the kind of thing you want floating in the mind of the big brother.

The rest of the eveing happened very quickly as it was a short visit. Presents, chit-chat, and more mimosas and fianlly, a departure from both parties. As my family left my house, I ran to the bathroom, applied my bronzer, and high-tailed it to the nearest bar I could find. A few drinks later the holidays were over and the thought that I had survived rang gloriously through my head.

On a side note, while my embarrassment from that evening remains a good chuckle in my head, let it be known, that I am proud of the choice my mother made to start her life over, without him in charge. I will applaud this bravery forever, even if it does involve a Gas-n-Gulp.

Merry Christmas to all, and to all a "Thank God! It's over."