Holiday Disasters Are Hilarious (Thirty Years Later)

There is a certain piece of 37-year-old family lore we revisit every holiday season. It is definitely in the realm of…

“Someday, we’ll all look back on this and laugh.”

At the tragic time, circa 1984, parents were angry, children were sad, and lots of shit got broken. I composed the Seussian version many years later when resentments had (mostly) simmered down.

So, with a little further ado, I give you the first piece I wrote as an adult in 2005, loosely considered “self-published” in modern parlance: I printed it on my fancy new laser printer, composing the graphics out of a mishmash of photographs, clip art and stick figure crayon drawings. It is The Year the Tree Went Down.

Sidenote (I told you there would be a little further ado; this is it.):

This will be my last newsletter of 2022. I’ll catch up with y’all in 2023 with some exciting and long-awaited news, for me, anyway….

Okay, I can’t wait! I’ll just tell you.

My novel, four years in the writing, editing and hand-wringing, has been picked up by a publisher! Sometime early next year, you will be able to purchase the actual book version of The Way It’s Supposed to Be by April Garner. (Or Something, Something, Something Else by April Garner, since that’s a working title. ) It will have real, non-crayon cover art and a professional binding devoid of staples from my plastic turquoise stapler.

I’ll spare you the details til the new year, at which point I will try not to talk about them incessantly but will probably fail. For now, enjoy a humorous look at a family holiday disaster worthy of the Griswolds:

Boy, graphics have come a long way since 2005! (Actually, I’m not sure I could do any better today. I had no kids and a lot of time on my hands back then.)

What you don’t see: The Cowboy game on in the background and Mom irritated that Dad is paying more attention to the TV than the tree decorating tradition. Also, this was probably not “the night before Christmas.” We always decorated several weeks ahead of time. Poetic license.

I was pretty smug about my sneaking abilities. Bon didn’t miss a trick, though.

“You’re not the boss of me” was my sister’s childhood catchphrase.

All of Mom’s favorite glass ornaments broke. You know how it is: “If she’s not dead, I’m going to kill her.”

The stairs in our childhood home actually had a railing; they were not the steep death trap these appear to be. Also, we did not wear monochromatic sleeveless triangle dresses in December. This was Dallas; it’s cold there. These are the limits of my artistic talents.

Not sure what this says about my family, but all of our most memorable moments involve elevated chaos.

If you’ve met my sister, you know the suggestion that she lacked agency is laughable. Don’t fuck with the Bonz.

When I was five, my parents watched me shellack myself into a bedroom corner as I helped coat the flooring in our new house. They were big on family help, even when we screwed things up. Thanks, Mom and dad.

‘Hope this brings back some of your own warm fuzzy disastrous holiday memories. See y’all in 2023!

More “This Is Not What I Expected,” holiday-style.