The invasion of 1967
Looking back, we knew the television was the reason they came for dinner. Every friday my aunt and her family would all squeeze their gelatinous mass through our front door and plop themselves in front of our television where they would remain until my father would forcibly kick them out. My mother, bless her heart, would just smile thinly as she placed serving after serving of beef bourguignon onto their plates and watched as they shoved it into their gaping mouths and guffawed at The Andy Griffith show. My father would just sit in his office, still brooding over his latest failed attempt to block the blobs from entering his home. It was a tradition in our family. A blowup on Thursday that would result in my mother sobbing in her bedroom with her door locked and my father falling asleep on the couch after finishing his whiskey sours, then my aunt would arrive on Friday. My brother and I would hide upstairs, occasionally peaking out to watch this disturbing display. We were too young at the time to understand what this bizarre dance meant, only that we were to never discuss it. It was the dark cloud our family had learned to ignore out of fear that acknowledging it would cause a storm to break. Except on Thursdays.
We were the first family on our block to buy a TV set. My father had received a promotion at work, and that Christmas he bought my mother a 31x32 inch screen TV. I remember having our neighbors come over to watch Bewitched or the Addams Family. My mother would stand with her chest puffed out, so proud. Then my aunt stopped by. My mother would always deflate when my aunt came over. When I got older my mother began to confide in me about her childhood.My aunt would steal my mother's toys, treats, and clothes. Crying to their parents whenever she fought back. My aunt was born with a deformed foot, making almost any movement painful for her and causing her to become obese, and as such her family coddled her and bent to her every whim. So when my aunt discovered that my mother had something she didn't, she immediately ran to my grandma to whine about it. My grandma called my mom. We didn't hear most of the conversation, but by the end my mother was crying and that next Friday, my aunt was over, hogging the tv.
When I got older my father would tell me why my mother continued to permit these fleshy paperweights into our home. How my mother longed for her family to be bonded like ours was. A bond where love was easily won and plentiful. My mother believed that if she just gave enough one day her sister would come over and throw her arms around her neck and say, “Thank you. Thank you for all that you do. I love you.” Each Friday my mother would wait. And at the end of the night, when her husband ordered the invaders from our house, I could see the tears beginning to form in her eyes. And when the doors finally closed my mother would Start sobbing and my father would draw her into his arms and hold her close.
I don't know what caused my mother to snap that day. After thirteen years of my aunt dragging her litter to our house, devouring our food, then leaving without so much as a thank you, something must have clicked, and one day my brother and I returned home from school to see my mother sweeping up the broken shards of the TV screen. We asked my mother what had happened and she replied nonchalantly, ”I hit it while I was cleaning. I’m sorry boys” though she didn't sound sorry. My brother and I didn’t care. The TV had become a symbol of pain in our family, we rarely watched it. It only had one purpose. When my father came home he seemed to realize, along with my brother and me, what this would mean for Friday, but we didn't say a word. That Thursday was the first one when there was no fight. My father was allowed to sleep in his bed, though he didn't sleep much, unlike my mother who slept like a rock. We were all waiting for Friday. Friday night rolled around and my mother made beef Bourguignon just like always. We waited silently as we watched her hum as she danced around the kitchen. When the doorbell rang my mother rushed to the door. Before my mother could get much out her family pushed her aside as they hurried to the living room. They had almost plopped down when suddenly their feeble minds realized that there was no TV, and my aunt spoke to my mother for the first time that night.
”Where’s TV?” she puffed out.
”Gone.” my mom chirped.
”Gone?”
”Yes, gone. I ran into it while I was cleaning.”
”What!?” they cried, ”well can you get another one?”
”Nope, ” my mom giggled, ”but you can sit with my family and talk if you like.”
”Why not?” my aunt snapped.
”Because.”
”Because why?”
”I can't.”
”Why?”
”Because I can’t.”
After a few minutes back and forth, my aunt and her family realized that they were not going to be watching any TV that night, and packed up in a huff and left. My mother closed the door behind them and turned to face us. She let out a shaky sigh, her eyes starting to well up. My father pulled her into a crushing hug, while my brother and I just sat there. We knew we had just witnessed something extraordinary, we just didn’t know what.
My aunt never came over again, and only contacted my mom to ask for money or beg for things. My mother always told her that we didn’t have any to spare and promptly hung up the phone. She would ignore the next inevitable phone call from her mother. After a while, they just stopped asking. From what I heard, my aunt begged her mother until she bought them a TV. My father drank less and my mother smiled more and our family got along fine without a TV, as we always had.. If we wanted to watch something, we just went over to our friend's house. By then more people on our block had TVs.
When I was fifteen I finally got the courage to ask my mom why she broke the TV. I was setting the table for our new friday tradition, green bean casserole. She stopped tossing the salad and sighed softly.
“At some point I just realized, I didn't have to bribe you, your brother or your father to love me. I was tired of trying to force people to love me when you all already showed that I was loveable.”
“Sam,” she continued as she pulled me into a hug, “Sometimes people don’t love you the way you deserve. Sometimes they’ll even make you believe that it’s what you deserve. But there are people in this world who will give you the love you need, you just have to find them.” She gave me an extra squeeze.
“Now, go wash up,” She chuckled, giving me a playful shove,”Supper’s ready.”
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