Family Day

Newfoundlanders have always celebrated tradition. They have always celebrated family. As I look back on my own childhood, it seems every day was family day, every day true to tradition. We sat for each meal as a family, our daily menu as predictable as the days of the week. Sunday involved Church, a visit to Nan and Pop’s, and a drive up the road for ice cream. Sunday evening we watched Walt Disney and The Ed Sullivan Show. Topo Gigio was everyone’s favorite. Homework was done at the kitchen table, with everyone squabbling for elbow room. During the summer months, we swam, picnicked, fished, camped, and picked berries. In winter, we skated on our own backyard rink, built snow forts and snowmen, and tobogganed together on a nearby hill. Bonfire Night, Thanksgiving, Christmas, and Easter all came with sights, sounds, and smells that varied little from year to year. I rather doubt any of us children felt we were celebrating family or tradition. We were having fun, growing up.

Regrettably, in today’s cruise control world, as we race from this week’s pay cheque to next, desperate to keep our average of 1.1 kids clothed, fed, active, and safe, there’s just no time for creating special memories of family and tradition - for having fun while growing up.

Or is there?

Family Day

Jackie called tonight. While I usually enjoy chatting with my baby sister, this was one conversation I could do without. “What should we do for Family Day this year?”

“Skip it,” I think, but I dare not say the words aloud. Jackie could no more skip Family Day than my mother could partake of toast and tea without saying grace. Family Day might be tolerable if we had it only once a year, but Family Day is something Jackie springs on me, I’m sure, when the scars of the last momentous occasion have become faint enough for her to think she can get away with another. I suppress the urge to tell her that a year is twelve months long and I tortured through Family Day a mere five months ago. Numbers are not important to my sister.

Tradition is important to Jackie, and Family Day is her tradition. Conceived in a twisted mind, I am sure, Family Day gives Jackie the opportunity to boss me around, something that as the youngest of the family, she had little opportunity to do growing up. How she has blossomed.

Family Day might be more tolerable if the entire family attended - surely, amongst a family our size, there is someone whose cynicism can match my own - but my other siblings are scattered about, too remote to be included in Jackie’s plans. I, however, am a mere six hour drive from my sister, and mucking over a less than well maintained Trans-Canada to partake in this traditional event, two or three times a year, is something Jackie not only expects me to do without murmur, but also, with anticipation.

I anticipate.

What Family Day requires is a brood of disgrunteled teens and preteens who are as excited about Family Day as I am, two harried sisters, a fat wallet containing most of next week’s grocery money, and a raid on my stash of loonies and toonies, secretly stored away for a special greedy treat - perhaps new underwear - some unspecified day down the road. The stash invariably goes to Family Day. I begrudge each coin, particularly when I sort the laundry: the kids’ Calvin Klein and Joe Boxers in one pile, my ratty drawers in another.

What Family Day does not require is an adult male presence.  Indeed, the adult male is conspicuous only by his absence. Mundane jobs that rarely require overtime become high-pressure think tanks that necessitate our superpower partners to be on site on Family Day. “Suspicious, don’t you think?” I ask. Jackie tells me I have a nasty mind.

The most recent Family Day took place on what is also known as Canada Day. To kick off this event in a manner appropriate to the holiday, our first stop is the Confederation Building, St. John’s, where Canada’s newest citizens are sworn in. The children will get a piece of the huge Canada Day cake and have a Maple Leaf painted on their faces, all for free. According to Jackie, not only will our children have fun, they will develop a sense of the magnitude and greatness of this country, Canada, and this island province we call home, Newfoundland. “People want to come here, Jean. Our kids should know that.” People may want to come here, but I would bet my mason jar of loonies and toonies they aren’t coming for Family Day.

As is the norm with all auspicious occasions frequented by politicians, dignitaries, and bigwigs in brand-name underwear, the ceremony is running late. Not that our children are concerned with the delay. Well versed in social etiquette, bright and inquisitive, as are all gifted children, they are eager to absorb the sights and sounds of this new experience. Jackie and I are bombarded with their quest for knowledge. “What are those poeple wearing on their heads?” “Why are they speaking Dutch?” I thank their Grandmother for that one: I don’t know. Sounds like Dutch to me. The quest for knowledge sated, the restless nature of childhood overtakes, and in the never-ending downtime before the ceremony, someone decides to have a litte fun. Fully cognizant of the difference in public and private personae, our children know it’s impolite to use the four-letter F word at a public gathering. Respectful of the occasion, they go with the Queen’s English. “Hey, who flatulated?” - this follwed by raucous laughter as our gifted darlings distinguish themselves with some not-at-all inconspicuous nose holding and laying of blame.

“How come they’re not giving us flags?” Taylor demands as the lady in the Chanel suit and meticulous makeup moves about the room offering children pint sized Maple Leafs, somehow managing to bypass our little group of ragamuffins every time she sweeps the room. I understand. I too have been trying to distance myself from this ragtag group of Charles Dickens characters, but Jackie has latched onto me like a wood tick. And the children, who immediately disperse the minute we hit the mall and must be hunted down like wildebeasts when it’s time to go home, follow us like little ducklings. I can’t shake them.

“Who’s that waving from the balcony up there?” Jackie whispers. I glance up, squint.

Probably Dad, I think, descended from heaven to ask us why the heck we’re here and not at the Cenotaph. Jackie and I have argued this one already, however, so I respond mildly. “I think it’s one of ours.”

“How’d it get up there?” she demands. I myself wonder how the child managed to get past the suits at the foot of the marble stairway. One of the advantages of being short, I surmise. Jackie is wearing a tight smile and gesturing wildly with her arm. She is not waving hello.

“Perhaps we should leave, seeing as how we’re running late,” I suggest. I can’t help it. I’m feeling just a little smug. The one on the balcony is hers, not mine. I glance at my agenda. Yes, Jackie has prepared agendas. Hot-pink paper with today’s events neatly typed and accompanied by clip-art appropriate to the day. I have avoided looking at the garishly colored sheet; the comic beaver with the oversized teeth seems to have a somewhat devilish grin directed at me personally. But right now I’m pleased to note that the time frame for this particular event is closing fast.

“Do you think we should?” Jackie asks. She doesn’t fool me. She wants out of here as much as I do. We line up our ducks, all of them quacking about the cake they didn’t get, and march them through the door. The lady in the smart suit smiles and gives us flags as we leave.

After settling the ‘front seat and who-gets-by-the-window’ issue, we’re on our way. The kids check their agendas. Where next? “MUN Botanical Gardens,” Jackie informs them. The Gardens are not on the agenda, but having left Confederation Building early, we have some time before the next scheduled event.

“What’s a MUN Botanical Garden?” Jackie explains and my too-cool university student drawls in response, “That should be a lot of fun.” I turn and glare. Today the girlfriend accompanies him. I had thought the presence of an outside-the-family female might polish the manners and decorum of our boys, but she is having little effect. If anything, the boys are more macho than usual. The young lady’s eyes sparkle and she giggles at all their crummy jokes and comments. I forgive her; she’s young. She will learn.

Jackie pays the admission fee and the boys discover the tearoom just inside the door.Not having received their portion of the Canada Day cake, they look to get their fair share now. I order blueberry cheesecake and wine. It’s early, but what the heck? My sister has offered to pay. Six desserts and fifty-three dollars later, we enter the gardens.

Jackie and I stroll the paths and marvel at the beauty that surrounds us. Taylor runs up with a huge, gorgeous blossom and presents it to his mom. “What’s this? Jackie asks me.

“I don’t know, but I think it’s rare.” She gets the hint, thanks her son, and gently informs him that we are not supposed to pick the flowers. Cold, hard cash guarantees his acquiescence and allays any possible hurt feelings. She sends him on his way. Not a wise move. Her second son arrives shortly thereafter with another bloom and an expectant look. Jackie’s free Canada Day cake has now cost her fifty-seven bucks. She glances about casually and tucks the flowers under her jacket. I wonder if that’s a surveillance camera behind the shrubs or if it’s just our young lovebirds, who have mysteriously disappeared. I think it’s time to leave.

Dessert has apparently whetted the appetite. Everyone wants lunch. Jackie has chosen a family restaurant. The younger kids want McDonalds. The older kids want pizza. Jackie is firm on this one; we go with the family restaurant.

The waitress takes our order. “I’ll have a Canadian,” says Taylor. Taylor is a personable ten-year-old who already plays a mean Whiteout on the drums. Perhaps beer is the beverage of choice for up and coming drummers; perhaps Taylor is merely feeling patriotic, what with it being Canada Day and all. Jackie manages to downsize him to a milkshake, somewhat unusual, considering the child doesn’t like milk. But then, a milkshake is $3.00 more than a pop, and not only are our children gifted, they have suddenly acquired a taste for quality. Everyone wants a milkshake now. “Just water, thank you,” I tell the waitress, remembering my ratty underwear. Jackie orders water too. I wonder what shape her drawers are in.

At home, the favored fare consists of hot dogs, frozen fries, and Kraft Dinner. If it looks or smells remotely like a decent meal, it is met with protest placards. Feeling generous because of the cheesecake, and lulled into stupidity by the early morning wine, I tell Jackie that lunch is on me. I should have known. Today, our children, with their newly acquired taste for quality, are showing signs of maturity. Their orders are experimental … and pricey. The usual requests for French fries and hamburgers are not forthcoming. When we leave, I look longingly at the pile of exotic food left on the table. I would ask for a doggy bag, but I don’t have a dog. And if the kids won’t eat it here, for sure they won’t eat it home. I think of my mom, six hours away, gracing over her tea and toast. This stuff wouldn’t last the trip, I decide. I pay the bill. One hundred and fifty-four dollars.

“I’ll leave the tip,” Jackie chirps.

Our agenda tells us that the Newman Wine Vaults are next. Jackie explains the history. More moans and groans. Borrrrr   inggggg! “Do we get free samples?” Taylor asks.

“What’s with this thing for booze?” I query.

“I don’t know.” Jackie shrugs.

“Do we?” I ask.

“Do we what?”

“Get free samples.”

“You’re worse than the kids, Jean.” She’s irritated, I can tell. I’m beginning to enjoy myself.

Admission is free, but there is a huge glass container for donations just inside the entrance. The other members of the tour group drop in their change. Our kids have their hands out for coins. They want to drop in their own and I reluctantly hand over more of my dwindling underwear stash. I sneak a peek at Jackie. I’m sure she didn’t put anything in. I tuck a five dollar bill back in my pocket and replace it with a toonie. Our guide has to raise her voice a little as she explains the history to the small crowd gathered in the outer room. The boys have discovered that the dark, gloomy caves hold an echo quite nicely. A sharp bark gets the best effect. I believe I hear a soprano joining in with the bass. The girlfriend is really getting into things. The boys love her. It’s cool here in the vault and I hug my sweater close, but I notice a thin sheen of perspiration on my sister’s tight upper lip. I feel better yet.

On to the next event, the Johnson Geo-Center, with a pit stop for ice cream. Jackie’s turn to pay so I forego a soft-serve in favor of a banana split. I don’t feel guilty in the least. I figure she’ll get me again before we put Family Day to rest.

Jackie wants a quick consultation outside the door to the Center. We do the math. It’s cheaper to pay separately than buy two family passes, thanks to our absentee partners. Twenty-nine dollars. We agree to go splits. Finally the kids are satisfied with Jackie’s choice. There are so many things at the Geo-Center that you are not supposed to touch or climb. They touch and climb them all. The place is big enough that Jackie and I can wander off and pretend we don’t know them. Everyone is happy.

We head for home with an absolute unequivocal no to requests for more food

That was our most recent Family Day. Jackie has just suggested we include the newly opened The Rooms in this month’s trip. “I think it would be a marvelous cultural experience for the kids.”

I agree with her, as per usual. The Rooms. Of course. Where else but?

As I hang up the phone, my son asks me what Aunt Jackie wants. “Family Day.” I roll my eyes.

“Cool. What’s the plan? Hope it’s as good as the last one.” I look at him, suspicious. After all, I have a nasty mind. Jackie said so.

“You’re joking, right?”

“No, I like Family Day. It’s kind of corny, but I always have fun. Don’t you, Mom?”

I roll my eyes again. But you know something? I think I do. I wonder if the elastic in my drawers can hold out another month.