Festivus Dinner

Gone are the days of kitchen closings for dinner table behavior that belongs in the bathroom! We have now achieved Festivus, for the rest of us parenting teens. The ‘Seinfeld’ holiday includes the ‘airing of grievances’ during the Festivus meal where each person tells everyone else all the ways they have disappointed them over the past year. Among our three sons, this airing of grievances has surpassed the airing of gas to make your brother laugh. 

I don't recall many sit-down meals in my family of four growing up, either because we ate meals on t.v. trays or the ridicule usurped positive memories. The responsibility of parenting dinner time discussion has proven equally challenging when ridicule is forbidden and plates are emptied faster than dog dishes. Over the past decade we've tried sharing highs and lows, emotions on the 'feelings wheel', compliments, and vocabulary games like 'Wild Words'. 

Lately the sharing of highs and lows has turned into who can share the fastest to be excused for a heaping dessert of dopamine, a.k.a. screen-time. I find myself bargaining for 20 minutes at the kitchen table, to practice social skills that will someday prove my children were not raised by wolves. I figure time prepping a home cooked meal from scratch deserves at least 20 minutes of respectful family time, though I'll admit, I'm an overachiever. 

"Cool stuff is not a high and your brother cannot be your low," I interject. "C'mon bruh!"

"Tell us something interesting you saw at school," inevitably elicits "Nothing," with the exception of the Christmas tree found in the high school toilet last year. 

Last week during dinner table discussion my teens assured us we were the worst parents in the world. I can relate to similar rants as a teen, though my kids are far worse-off because we restrict screen-time. As relatively mature parents, we upped the ante, challenging our kids to a Festivus dinner rivaling George Costanza.

"Keep it coming, seriously, the worst?" We couldn't help but laugh. "We're the best at being the worst!" I claimed, elbowing my husband. The boys were actually sharing.

"You make us mow the lawn and do the dishes, and I have to pay my own money for crickets for my bearded dragon," my 11-year-old chimed in making his case.

"You are forcing us to go on a four-week family vacation this summer!" our 15-year-old snapped. Apparently their friends get to stay home, rather than be inconvenienced by a road trip, vegging out all day and night gaming online. We must really suck as parents!

"It's only a three-week vacation with cell phone service," I shared to sweeten the deal, remembering our month-long RV trip off the grid at the start of the pandemic, when lack of cell phone bars or air conditioning made hiking and biking the best 'Forced Family Fun' alternative.

Unfortunately, the Festivus fun fizzled as fast as the food was finished and the pubescent screen hounds realized their parents were winning at conversation.

I don't know what was worse the next night, my 17-year-old asserting his independence by refusing to utter a word (a subconscious age-appropriate behavior to ensure we're ready for his college departure), or his 12-year-old brother. Spying the freshly inked penis on the prepubescent's hand I was on the brink of losing my s#@%. Apparently the verbose one had 'free time' during class, and because we won't let him buy a smartphone before 8th grade, he let his buddy tattoo a graphic sleeve up his arm. Worst parents win again!

There's a reason my husband and I sit next to each other at dinner. Not only can we tag team each other for parenting, we appear more of a 'united front' presiding over our country of six individual states of being. We aspire to establish justice, ensure domestic tranquility, and promote freedom of speech, til death do us part or until they leave for college. 

I shocked my country people last night when I grabbed a stool to reach our dusty 'compliment' kidney bean jar in a high up cabinet full of freshly replenished liquor bottles.

Ever since my daughter left for college last fall, conversation, courtesy and compliments have gone the way of the pandemic and as presiding peri-menopausal president of our tiny household nation, I had little creativity left to spare! Besides, it had been ages since I'd received a compliment.

"The bean jar is almost full," I said to stoke interest. 

"What do we get when it's full, Tea Chai Thé or Hurry Back ice cream?" my youngest asked eagerly. I'll admit it takes a few dozen civilized dinner table rounds until the kidney beans reach the top line and a Forced Family Fun prize of a walk to bubble tea or ice cream is earned. By then, we're all winning! 

"But I don't want to go together for ice cream," my wise middle son cracked. "Can't you just give us money?"

"Oh, so you wanna go first with compliments?" I said, confident he would want to get it over with. 

"Liam's good at being stupid is not a compliment," I interrupted before Liam had a chance to say thank you and civil conversation spun out of control.

Winning for originality, I focused on what each boy had worked hard at, placing a bean in the cup for each compliment. "Thank you," I replied to my husband when he complimented me on my earrings right after my son complimented me on the matching necklace. Bruh. The boys do seem to have a 'wolf-pack' mentality. 

Before they were teens, I remember closing the kitchen for a week, forcing the savages to exist on whatever they could make themselves for dinner. Cereal, oatmeal, peanut butter and jelly sustained them until my malnourished husband forced them to behave. These days it's Festivus for the rest of us, outnumbered and trying to survive family dinner with teens. Serenity now!