Ghosts of Christmases Past

PBS stations all over the country are currently airing a compilation of King Family Christmas shows as part of their pledge drives. Not only would this make me inclined not to donate money, but I've also thinking about asking for my money back from my previous contributions.

You probably remember this loopy bunch from television shows back in the 60s. A surefire way to make me go to bed before my usual time. They showed up usually at Christmastime. Joyously singing carols while most of America scratched their heads trying to figure out who the hell they were.

This was homespun entertainment so sweet that dentists probably refused to watch. Little King children dancing gleefully. Teenage King cousins (including Tina Cole later on "My Three Sons") were popping their zits along with each chorus of "The Twelve Days of Christmas." Even Grandma King gets wheeled in and out, years before her equivalent in another family got run over by a reindeer. There is such merriment that your head hurts after five minutes. An ice cream brain freeze without the chocolate syrup. And they wonder why American youth in the 60s turned to sex and drugs.

When I was a kid and I watched this dreck, probably because nothing else was on, I couldn't fathom this depiction of a family Christmas celebration. Who the hell were these aliens? What planet are they from? Is it tough to land a spaceship during a holiday blizzard?

I contrast the King Family with what I saw and heard at our own Christmas gatherings. While the Kings were sitting around the house stringing beads and singing "Jingle Bells," we had our own Yuletide exchanges over the turkey and yams.

"Stop telling me how to raise my kids."

"If you're going to fart, do it away from the table."

"I can't believe you're serving turnips again. Nobody likes them."

"The dog is up on the kitchen table, chewing on the loin of pork."

All of the above are taken verbatim. Dinner would succumb to a mercy rule and everybody would retreat to their respective corners for a nap. Then, an hour or two later, there would be dessert.

"What, no pumpkin pie this year??"

"There she goes again, telling me how to raise my kids."

"I don't want to play Boggle because you cheat."

"Tuffy just crapped all over the kitchen floor."

Now that's what I called a family Christmas.

Dinner last night: Turkey burger.