By Lisa Scottoline
It’s time you knew the truth.
My childhood Christmases were not the norm.
I’m reluctant to tell you because it makes the family look bad.
But I’m a fan of the truth, especially if it’s funny.
Here’s what happened.
When I was little, The Flying Scottolines were a family of four, living in a tract house in Delaware County, Pennsylvania. But my mother had a very large family and she was the youngest of nineteen children.
Yes, you read that correctly.
Nineteen.
I had eighteen aunts and uncles. Their age span was so large that some were dying while others were being born.
Okay, maybe that’s an exaggeration, but not by much.
What does this tell you about my family?
I don’t even want to know.
Let’s just say they were good Catholics.
Maybe too good.
What does that tell us about my grandmother?
That she had more estrogen than the northern hemisphere?
Can you imagine being pregnant nineteen times?
It’s like a puppy mill, only with babies.
By the way, my grandmother was married twice. Her first husband died.
You can guess how.
His heart wore out.
Before anything else, evidently.
I would’ve said, Dude, before bedtime, maybe read a book instead?
Anyway, when I was growing up, most of the aunts and uncles would come to our house for Sunday dinner and on holidays. The house would burst with colorful Italian relatives, like in an Olive Garden commercial but not as well-dressed.
Everybody brought potluck, which meant that we had 37 different kinds of pasta.
I adored all of my aunt and uncles, but my favorite was Uncle Mikey, the Fun Uncle.
He drove a convertible Thunderbird, love to sing and dance, and did God-knows-what for a living. He loved to play with me and my brother, tickle us, and tell us dumb jokes. But best of all, he always brought us presents on Christmas Eve, like Santa, only smoking a cigarette.
All the other aunts and uncles would give us a Christmas gift by placing them under the tree for us to open on Christmas morning.
But not Uncle Mikey.
He would bring his gifts unwrapped, so we could play with them right away.
Of course, we loved that, as kids.
Delayed gratification was not in our vocabulary.
I always noticed some tension between my parents and Uncle Mikey on Christmas Eve, and one year, the presents from Uncle Mikey stopped abruptly.
Bummer.
I asked my mother why, and that’s when she told me that Uncle Mikey’s presents “fell off a truck.”
Not that that explained anything.
I remember thinking that Uncle Mikey was the luckiest guy ever, always driving around behind trucks full of toys, just when things started falling off the back.
What a guy!
And he must’ve been the greatest catch, too, because when the toys fell off the truck, he caught them.
Merry Christmas!
Some kids believed in Santa, but I believed in Uncle Mikey.
I didn’t care where the presents came from, only that I got them.
Evidently, Uncle Mikey felt the same way.
Then one day, after I had become an adult, I heard the term “fell off a truck” used in a movie. And I learned that it meant the goods were stolen.
Which is when I realized that Uncle Mikey wasn’t such a good catch, after all.
No wonder Mother Mary made him stop.
And no wonder the presents were never wrapped.
And no wonder they were always the best.
Because they didn’t cost him anything.
The Flying Scottolines were receiving stolen goods.
Luckily we didn’t end up behind bars.
And so you get the idea.
That’s who we were.
Are you impressed yet?
The truth is never impressive.
It’s just real.
And sometimes funny.
Copyright © Lisa Scottoline
