The Homecoming

Rated PG for “brief mild language.” Speculations of culprit terminology: “prissy butt” “poop” “piss ants” “bosoms”

It’s become a tradition for Boyfriend and me, thanks to our friends Mary Ann and The Professor, to watch The Homecoming every Christmas season. You remember, the movie that inspired the series The Waltons. The mom and dad were different actors in the series, but we’re mighty grateful John Boy translated from the movie to the TV, big face mole and all. (For the record, John Boy Walton makes my skin crawl.)

The Homecoming was one of those recurring holiday movies back in the olden days of my childhood, like Elf and The Santa Clause are today, and was required viewing. It depicted good values, family togetherness and an accurate account of how things were in hillbilly country during the depression, which is something every city kid should know.

One of my favorite parts of the movie is how everyone is so suspicious of John Boy locking himself in his room. His mother suspects he’s smoking cigarettes. I’m sure she also suspected he was jerking off to girlie magazines when she demanded he reveal what he had hidden under his mattress. John Boy made a fool of her when he told her how he was merely writing down all of his private thoughts. He’s just so sensitive, having a diary and all.

And what about when John Boy is driving through the snowy woods to find his daddy who could very well be dead in a ditch from the bus accident? He starts having auditory hallucinations of his slave-driving daddy demanding his boy do manly things and John Boy responding to his father’s barks with “I’m trying daddy, I’m trying.” Didn’t John Man know his son was destined to be an effeminate author?

I tease, which is exactly what you’re supposed to do while watching The Homecoming. Let me just say in all my kidding about the fancy John Boy that there is definitely a hottie in the movie. Cleavon Little is just about as delicious as they come as the Reverend Hawthorne. And you know, it is true what they say about those guys. Oh it’s twue, it’s twue!

And what of the Frankenstein-headed daddy? Yikes. His head is huge! And plus he tells a dreadful story about “wrastling” with Santa after throwing a rock at him. Well, at least in the end he comes to terms with his namesake going into the business of writing instead of living out his life on Walton Mountain.

If you haven’t seen The Homecoming you really should for the reasons my parents made me watch it. If you’re one of those oldsters like me who have already watched it for the reverent reasons you should watch it again and poke fun. If nothing more you can pull quotes from the movie and use them in your everyday lives, such as Boyfriend and I, along with Mary Ann and The Professor have. Some favorites:

“You take it out yonder and pour it on the ground!”

“Old woman you’re not the boss of me.”

“I think it’s a doll!”

I’m really surprised this film hasn’t been made into a cult classic. Christmastime midnight showings at the theater would surely draw hundreds. Now what can I do to get that pesky theme song out of my head?

Christmas Cards

One thing I like to do every year is send out Christmas cards. I don’t send out too many, no more than a couple dozen. I know some who send out upwards to a hundred, but I’ve just never been popular enough to know that many people.

For some reason I'm compelled to tell you this is not a card I would send out, but merely an example of a Christmas card chosen solely for the purpose of illustrating "Christmas Card."  It's a blogger thing - having a picture in your post.  Not that I think this is a horrible card or anything, but I probably would never send it myself.  Let's say it's an example of the cards other people send me.  Okay, read on...

It doesn’t matter how many Christmas cards you send out, or if you send any at all. What matters is the motivation behind your actions.  My motivation for sending cards to anyone: an acknowledgement at the end of the year that I’m thinking about you, I’m glad to know you, I want you to have a wonderful season, whether you celebrate Christmas or not.

Then there are those people who have completely different motivations than I. I especially love Faux Ma’s approach to the card-giving practice. Every year she keeps the cards she received and only sends cards the following year to those who gave her a card the previous year. It doesn’t matter if the card sender is suffering from a major illness and is unable to send a card, or if the card got lost in the mail, or even if they just decided to not send cards to anyone they are deemed unworthy to receive one of her precious Christmas cards the following year.

Others send “the letter” under the guise of a year-end update when really they just want to brag about their fabulous vacation, their smart children, or even better write them in the voice of their pets. Personally I love getting “the letter” because when I read it I just assume everything is the complete opposite of what is written.

The best  worst  stupidest cards I receive are the ones sent merely as a reflex to receiving one from me. I’m not on their list to begin with, but because I sent them one, they frantically send one out to me, thinking they owe me one. It’s especially wonderful when I get my cards out just before Christmas and those lame people who feel they need to reciprocate send one out to me after the holiday. Geez.

I send cards because I want to. Not because I think I have to. Not because you gave one to me. If you don’t send one to me I’m not going to snub you next year. I don’t expect anything in return. To that Faux Ma says, “I guess you know the real meaning of giving.”

lieTunes

Music is a huge part of the Christmas experience. There are all sorts of offerings, everything from the Mormon Tabernacle Choir to Steve and Eydie, Silent Night to Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer. Everyone, including famous Jews like Neil Diamond and Barbra Streisand, has put out a Christmas cut, if not a whole Christmas album (CDs to you youngsters).

I was talking with Charlotte the other day and she told me her husband just adores the Charlie Brown Christmas soundtrack, and she’s about ready to snap that CD in two because it just drives her nuts. I can totally relate, as Boyfriend also loves that CD. It’s a guy thing. That annoying jazz piano is probably the last thing a girl would want to listen to while trimming the tree or wrapping presents.

And then ask any guy what his favorite Christmas song is. Eighty percent of the time they’ll answer Little Drummer Boy.

See a pattern?

Over the years I’ve known a lot of guys and by now in my ripe mid-age I have it all figured out. Here’s the deal – the guys are trying to brainwash the girls and are subversively trying to inflict guilt upon us.

You see, they want you to think they’re all sensitive, but the truth is, they want to create the illusion that they’re identifying with the losers. Charlie Brown? Loser. The music on that CD doesn’t move them, it’s all about Charlie Brown. Jazz? Jazz is not Christmas. And I’ll bet you the guy who says he likes the Charlie Brown soundtrack doesn’t listen to jazz at all throughout the rest of the year. What the guys assume is that girls like to take care of the loser, the pitiful Charlie Brown figure. The hope is that the girl’s nurturing instincts will kick in and the guy will never want for a thing, because the girl will pity the loser, pamper him, and give him never-ending validation so he doesn’t feel like the Charlie Brown loser he is convincing you he is. It’s all very Jungian and archetypal.

What about that Little Drummer Boy? Well here’s the thing on that - “I have no gift to bring…” Another loser. That the little drummer boy merely offered baby Jesus his drumming talent and himself, is exactly what your guy wants you to expect from him this Christmas. Okay? 1) Tell me what girl wants to hear a drum solo, and 2) giving of himself? Give me a break. He’s only trying to get out of buying you diamonds and furs, things you totally deserve. Don’t let him send subliminal messages that you should feel guilty for wanting the fine things in life.

So girls, don’t fall for it. It’s not sensitivity or vulnerability these guys are revealing with their Christmas “favorites.” It’s trickery. I’ve been around the block and have it all figured out. They’re secretly loving the song Grandma Got Run Over By A Reindeer, and you can go ahead and let them know you’re on to them with their Charlie Brown and Drummer Boy façade.