Screw You, Entire Town of Derby! Happy Christmas Eve-Eve

On Christmas Eve-Eve, I went back to Michigan for a few days. I was coming down with flu symptoms, was stressed out from the "re-org" at work, and was also really really nervous to see a brother I hadn't seen in nine years. When I was going through the divorce, it came out that he had been playing a sort of double agent between us--calling me to see how I was feeling, then reporting back to him and assuring him that the whole family was on "his side" and they sort of preferred him anyway. This hurt me very deeply, and I now have some trust issues with this brother.

I think it's safe to say I got myself worked up over nothing. I was afraid there would be a big fight, based on politics or sexism. I steeled myself to just leave the room anytime I felt sexist remarks coming on. Nothing of the sort happened. I think we all tried really hard.

Sometime I want to write about the fine line a woman walks as she faces such demeaning remarks. My number one priority was not to fight, so I chose conversation topics carefully.

It was brief visit, just Saturday through Tuesday. My flu worsened once I arrived, and I took naps and tried to avoid spreading germs.

On Saturday night, I was about to go to bed. I was worn out from stress and had the chills and a headache that wouldn't quit. My dad mentioned to my brother the holiday light display on the bluff in downtown St. Joe. I had always wanted to see the lights but never had due to the timing of my visits at Christmastime. I always have to work the day before and day after Christmas so I am usually there only a few days. My dad suddenly said, "Hey, wanna go now?" to Chuck and me. My mom was about to go to bed too but seemed happy about the spontaneous diversion.

It was freezing on the bluff above Lake Michigan. The wind was blowing hard. The brick streets and tiny shops and restaurants looked lonely. My dad decided to get out and walk under the lights and invited any takers. I hopped out, and Mom and my brother stayed in the car.

My dad turned into someone I'd never met. He said things, such as, "I think this is nice. I like walking with your mom here. The lights are pretty. There's usually music playing but it's late." It occurred to me, "I'm walking with my dad under Christmas lights. This is what normal people do. This is weird!"

When we got to the end of the bluff, Chuckie whipped around and picked us up, and on the way home, Dad decided that Chuckie needed to see what the old farm looks like now. 

The old farm. That's where I spent my childhood. My dad bought an old farm in 1975. I moved out in 88. They stayed there until 2006. The farm is a character in itself. I wrote a play about it in 2012 called "Junk Yard Dogs." 

A couple purchased it on a land contract. Several years later, they defaulted. They kinda destroyed the house with dogs. They stole a refrigerator. They were assholes.

A rich couple bought it the following year, and turned the land and barn into something out of a magazine. They never lived in the house, just rented it. The updated barns, pastures, paddock, and addition of  a pond (all for the couple's horses) has caused my dad to obsess over a milllion "coulda woulda shoulda-s." 

He seems to think we all hold this fascination of the farm's transformation and drive by it on the regular. We don't. Some of us live many states away, and yet the first thing he asks is, "Have you been by the farm lately?" Like, when? Would we make a special trip to come look at the farm? He thinks we must do this, otherwise why would he ask.

After trespassing, we drove back to their beautiful home where they have resided since 2006. It's a great house on a great ravine. Of course he constantly wants to get rid of it to go find another shitty farm or a depressing cabin on a lake--or rather "really nice mobile home" on a "really nice lake." Nope and Nope. 

It's rural. A few small businesses dot the road. Dad asked Chuckie to pull over in front of a storage unit place: "I haven't done this in a while."

He rolls down the window and starts shouting abuse in German at the storage facility.

"Chuck..." my mothers says, mildly yet absentmindedly scolding him.

Chuckie then rolls his down window. "Oh yeah?! Well screw you, Ballard Printing!" he yells to the business on the other side of the street.

Then I roll down my window, "Up yours, Boelcke heating and air conditioning!"

Then Chuckie, "Go to hell, Scott Berry Productions!"

Then me, "Suck it, Ace Hardware!"

"Eat shit and die! Hoffman Realty!"

"Sod off! Spot Not Car wash!:

Then Chuckie ties it up neatly: ""Screw You and the Horse you Came in On, Entire Burg of Derby."

That's so dumb that you have to live there for it to be funny.

After the Bizzaro world of walking under Christmas lights like normal human beings, shouting abuse at the small businesses of Stevensville on Christmas Eve-Eve all was right again. Now things feel normal!

Pretty soon my mom says, "Don't you know what Dad was doing back there?"

Silence. Confusion. Bafflement. (Bafflement is a word????)

"He was yelling at the people in the house behind the storage unit. They're the ones that wrecked the farm house."

Yes, because that makes sense. That's what you do. Yell at them in German from a moving car.

This is my Christmas and this is my family and this is normal!