For Thursday, January 2 Drummer Column, Gibbs, 685 words

Christmas past

Christmas at the Gibbs house was pleasant but hectic. The quadra-parent family status of our children kept them running all over the Bay Area.

Adam and Kristi, our kids, spent Christmas Eve with their bio-dad in Antioch. They slept here, but we had to rush through opening the presents so Kristi and her finacé Chad could visit first his father in Walnut Creek and then his mother in Vallejo.

The wife and I stayed home. We're aged. We sat with Sue's parents, Nana and Poppa, who came to our house for Christmas for the first time. We dined from a half-dozen boxes of See's candy and watched the Cal Bears let the Aloha Bowl slip through their fingers.

Most families time-share between relatives and in-laws over Christmas. Either the holiday is split between them, or everyone gets together. Ho. Ho. Ho.

Imagine a family with three married kids. That's three to six sets of in-laws to either visit or share with your children. Plus your children may wish to spend time alone, or visit each other's houses, or visit in-laws together, or see friends. If the children have children, the problem swells like an airbag.

Who could possibly agree on a central rendezvous? A multi-generational family littered with divorces and second marriages would need a convention hall and a whole sleigh full of Yuletide Spirit to converge on one spot.

Or a marriage.

Say, there's a thought. Get married on Christmas. Everyone would have to come. We all have trees lined with presents, but a wedding needs a congregation. A wedding would also give agnostic relatives a reason to visit a church. And think of the presents! The bride and groom would earn double, and everyone else would get prizes, too. The wedding party could have a huge gift-opening ceremony that filled the hall. Families could sit at tables and children could run from in-laws to step-parents all in the same room.

Of course, all friends of the bride and groom would have to abandon their own families, or bring them along, which is too impractical to map out. It appears that a marriage would unite two families, and leave a dozen others separated. Scratch that idea.

Once I lived in a small town. Big families lived a few blocks apart, and people married locals with big families. It was easy to move about. If you needed someone to stop over you could yell out the window, or send the dog.

The magic of distance can be disenchanting. Once everyone moves away, the phrase "Home for the Holidays" is only in our dreams.

Back to the home front. We have an annual tradition where I hide a gift and leave ten clues around the house. Each clue hints toward the next. I spend hours concocting them, and many take long thought to figure out.

So, here's Kristi and Chad, both with a house full of clues, and the phone starts ringing. It's Chad's parents, one at a time, asking, "When are you coming over? We don't want to open presents without you."

Now, they're rushed. The clues seem harder. Their minds are distracted. Susan is sneaking them extra clues to help them along. I'm trying to keep her quiet. I figure if the kids can't find all the clues, too bad, no presents, come back later. Susan's pointing and mouthing answers. I'm standing in front of her flapping my arms, pinning her against the stove.

Finally, I offer an alternative motivator - ten Lotto Scratchers to the first person who finds a present. Kristi grows serious and finds her Bonsai juniper behind the computer. Chad soon finds his shoeshine kit tied to the back fence. Thanks. Bye.

Adam isn't married. He stayed with us. He was still on Clue 3 when the others left. I made his clues harder. Eventually, he found the Wallace and Gromit claymation trilogy in the trunk of the car.

Our friends, Ron and Jane West, do things differently. Her side celebrates Christmas on the Sunday before, and Ron's family lives in Redding so they exchange cards, calls, and packages. It works. They're free.

As a grandpa, I want to own a huge, irresistible house way out in snow country. I'll send out open invitations at Christmas and hope that whoever shows up gets snowed in.