The Hill Man’s Blogspot

It’s All Greek To Me

Christmas in Peabody, Massachusetts is unlike the traditional close-knit, small family get together I often hear my friends talk about when the holiday season approaches. They reminisce about Grandma’s homemade cookies and Grandpa telling stories by the fireside. This sort of Christmas holiday, however, is one I am a stranger to. Being a Greek family, our holiday is not one for small get togethers and candle-lit dinners. Instead, it is my Yia-yia’s opportunity to invite half the city of Peabody, which she insists are all cousins of some sort, for an all day event. The food is ordered in from the nearest Greek restaurant and within hours the house is overwhelmed with the smells of spanakopita, pastichio, and moussaka. A warm aroma that only a true Greek could recognize.

The relatives arrive and every year there is a slew of people I have never seen before. “Your fifth cousins on your grandfather’s side” my grandmother whispers. I nod approvingly and greet them as if we had spent every Christmas together. It isn’t long before my younger adult cousins have one to many shots of ouzo and insist we all join in on the Greek dances that have been started in the family room. The “OOMPASSS” coming from the next room combined with the sounds of smashing plates, and my Grandmother’s only Greek CD she plays on repeat are never all that appealing. None-the-less I am suckered in and have to smile at my aunts and uncles as they stumble around the room linked hand in hand. After the pre-dinner dancing, it’s time to eat and dinner is always delicious. Being Greek in heritage has certainly given me an acquired taste to Greek food. Dinner is not quiet and relaxed but instead several separate conversations go on in an attempt to catch everyone up on the latest gossip around town. Who’s married who, who’s pregnant, and which rebel of a cousin had to go and marry the Jewish man. My Yia-yia always makes sure to sit near my sisters and me in an attempt to persuade us to grow up and marry a nice Greek boy so that we can have a nice Greek wedding and make nice Greek babies.

            “How ’bout cousin Lenny?” She asks for the third year in a row, ”You two would make great couple, yes!”

            “No Yiayia.” I reply, “Were related… that’s weird… plus he’s 24.”

            “He’s your fifth cousin, it no matter…and 24… Bah! Your Papoo ten years older than me… it no matter kooklamoo!”

Stubborn as ever there is no convincing her and I agree to have a dance with Lenny in the family room. He’s much too old for me and reeks of a combination of Ouzo, lamb, and feta cheese. We dance around a little before I think of some lame excuse to leave and join my sisters in the safety of the kitchen. Out of breath I escape to the dessert room where most of the females have joined to re-kindle their gossiping. “I can’t believe she married that Jewish boy….. I think it’s because she is pregnant…. I heard she had three boyfriends at the same time…. Three? I heard seven!” My sisters and I roll our eyes at the pointless gossip.

Finally, my Papoo calls the family into the family room. It’s the end of the night and time for family videos. We all sit around and open presents and watch movies laughing and recalling the “good old days”. Sipping wine and munching on baklava I can’t help but really smile at the ridiculousness of my family. When everyone leaves I say goodnight to my Yia-yia and Papoo and curl up in my bed thinking about the hectic Christmas’s my family has. However, despite how much I think about that quiet Christmas by the fire, I simply can’t imagine the holidays without a few broken plates, a little of Greek dancing, and one too many shots of ouzo.

Filed by Mr. Hillman at March 27th, 2008 under Wait until your father gets home! Tales of family...