Well, Men!
by Don Taco
There are three events that qualify as Holiday Turkey Dinners. Thanksgiving, Christmas, and Easter. I know that some folks bake a ham, or do uncivilized things like getting a pizza or going out for Asian cuisine, but I have to assume that they just don't know better, and try to forgive them. I come from quite a large family, and, while someone might bring a ham, as 'extra' food, similar to green beans or pie, the heart of the discussion is about how many people are coming and, therefore, how many turkeys will have to be baked. After the carcasses (carcassi?) are stripped clean by the ravenous hordes, soup is made, and when it's about time to stop drinking, the coffee and the soup are ready, and you drive home. Unless it was your turn to host the gathering of the clan, in which case you can just collapse and try not to consider all the things that will have to be cleaned and put away again later.
As the big holiday dinner was winding down, my mother would stand up, and declare, (and I choose that word very carefully,) declare, "Well, men! It's a tradition in my family that, after the big holiday dinner, my father would stand up and say, "Well, Men! The women cooked us this wonderful dinner, so let's get into the kitchen and get all these dishes washed!" It does represent, in actual fact, a lot of dishes. And my mother was perfectly willing to admit that her father saw himself as the breadwinner, and these occasions were the only time he ever washed any dishes. Times change.
And that was the signal for all the men to head for the kitchen, and, willing or not, get busy with the prodigious task of getting all the dishes done. Even as times got more modern, and electric dishwashers became part of the plan, there was a lot to do.
And the day came when, as a young 'responsible' adult, I beat my mother to the punch.
I stood up after the big holiday dinner, before she did, and I declared, "Well, Men!"
My mother was absolutely beside herself! This was the day she'd always dreamed of. The passing of the torch! The acceptance of responsibility. The new generation honoring the old, and walking in their footsteps.
Only it didn't go exactly as she hoped or expected.
I stood up at the end of the big holiday dinner, and declared, "Well, Men! It's a tradition in my family that, after the big holiday dinner, my mother would stand up and declare, "Well, Men! It's a tradition in my family that, after the big holiday dinner, my father would stand up and say, "Well, Men! The women cooked us this wonderful dinner, but, since we have to re-wash all the good dishes when we get them out of the cupboard again, let's just scrape them clean and put them away dirty. It'll save a lot of time."
Gales of laughter. Especially from the men.
Expostulations and protest from all the female heads of households.
My mother is chagrined. (Isn't that a great word? How often do you get to use it?) She's been taken, hook, line, and sinker.
When the hilarity dies down, the men head for the kitchen, and life goes back to normal. Soup is made, coffee is poured.
It's just the beginning.
At the next big holiday dinner, I again stand, and declare, "Well, Men! It's a tradition in my family that, after the big holiday dinner, my mother would stand up and declare, "Well, Men! It's a tradition in my family that, after the big holiday dinner, my father would stand up and say, "Well, Men! The women cooked us this wonderful dinner, so let's get in there and break a few of the smaller plates and bowls, so that we're never allowed to touch the good china again."
Hilarity again ensues.
This continues, through several other variations on the theme that I just can't recall, to the point where the clan is anticipating me, rather than my mother, towards the end of the meal.
That's when it really gets good. After one of the big holiday dinners, one of my cousins stands up, and declares, "Well, Men!"
Everything stops. All eyes on him. Even I am surprised. And, of course, delighted. Tradition is being born.
"Well, men! It's a tradition in my family that after the big holiday dinner, my cousin stands up and declares, "Well, Men! It's a tradition in my family that, after the big holiday dinner, my mother would stand up and declare, "Well, Men! It's a tradition in my family that, after the big holiday dinner, my father would stand up and say, "Well, Men! The women cooked us this wonderful dinner, so..."
I wish I could remember all the variations. "Let's just get drunk and watch football instead." "Let's toss them all in the pool and let the chlorine and the filter do the work. We'll dive for then in time for the next dinner." And so on.
Now, numerous members of my generation get involved, each putting their own twist on the game. Always funny. Always irreverent. You remember that there are three of these dinners per year. Years have been passing by. And we still always wash the dishes.
And then one day, one of the youngest clan members stands up from the kid's table (Kid's Table,) and declares, "Well, men!"
A hush falls over the room. This ought to be good.
"Well, men! It's a tradition in my family that after the big holiday dinner, one of my uncles stands up and declares, "Well, men! It's a tradition in my family that after the big holiday dinner, my cousin stands up and declares, "Well, Men! It's a tradition in my family that, after the big holiday dinner, my mother would stand up and declare, "Well, Men! It's a tradition in my family that, after the big holiday dinner, my father would stand up and say, "Well, Men! The women cooked us this wonderful dinner, so..."
A virtually unbeatable level of reflexivity has been achieved. And he was funny, too.
My mother imagined a tradition being carried on. Instead, one was born.
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