The food is eaten the tallies made. The most popular Thanksgiving question asked by family? "So how are you doing?" Everybody asked me that. I'm on the phone with Dad, "So how are you doing?" Mom, same thing. My little sister? Yup her too. And it's not the All encompassing "How you doing?" or even the Joey from friends "how you doing?" Which although disturbing coming from family, would at least be a change. No, this is the needle-jab to the soul, "So MyUnwife's left you. How are you taking to being pathetic and lonely?" Ok, maybe the intent didn't start out that way, but by the sixth or seventh "I'm Fine" my soul is a little tender. "I'm sitting alone eating a wren on steroids, and boxed stuffing. How do you think I'm doing? Stop freaking asking already!" I heard grandma drop her oxygen mask after I said that to her. There was a thump and a crash, and they drove her to the hospital, her lips all blue and quivering. Family's just like being married: Everybody wants honesty until you give it, then somebody ends up crying in the hospital.
"How are you doing?" By the time I've completed all my phone calls I'm doubting my "fine" answer. Was it believable enough? Did I make too many jokes; do they think I'm overcompensating; am I overcompensating; am I really fine?
Fine. Whatever. Now my family has me in reevaluation mode. It's like NASA running down a checklist:
Happy?
Check.
Sociable?
Check
Emotional stability?
Check.
Naked cactus wrestling?
Che-what?
That was just a test. Carry on…
What's the one thing you don't want to do sitting in your house all alone on a holiday? Well yes, summoning demons through spells from a book you found in the basement is a bad idea. But anyone who's watched enough horror movies knows, that's a sport for 5 or more. Nobody's going to watch a glowing eyed murderer stabbing out emails because there's nobody around to kill. No, what you want to avoid, in my little story, is self evaluation, because by the time you reach the end of the list, you might as well be reading some cult death tome: You're in hell.
How are you doing? I'm clinging to life by the skin of my teeth. And just what is that? According to my dentist, the only skin on my teeth is from biting my tongue. Teeth have enamel like painted talons. They're offensive weapons. And that's what I found over my Thanksgiving sabbatical: I'm offensive--like the smell of an old turkey. I'm also no longer simply defending myself. I'm being me: See me, hear me, smell me in all odorous offense. Despite all the asking, I'm doing good. I enjoyed my bird, my stuffing, and my rolls. I don't need to run the personal checklist: all systems are go. All verbs are active. It took a lot return to a holiday place of celebration; I'm not slumping back to the grueling days of enduring and gruel.
So how are you doing?
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