Survivor: The Isle of Holiday Celebrations

Television etiquette experts recently suggested routes to avoid potential family conflicts at our upcoming holiday celebrations. I had to laugh--my extended family celebrations don't end UNTIL there's a conflict a-brewing, just hopefully not involving firearms or flying crockery. (My mother still publicly mourns the death of her favorite gravy boat each time we sit down for Thanksgiving dinner). The (clearly) more civiled pros offered ideas like "focus on what the family is grateful for this year" or rehearsing conversation-diverting remarks designed to thwart Aunt Rita's criticism of cousin Jordan's green Rasta locks from evolving into a full-on family throw-down. "Avoid contentious topics" was another gem tossed out by the Etiquette Mafia. No talk of religion, politics, or sensitive social issues once the bird is on the table. Yeah, good luck getting my clan to sign on to that plan. What are we left with: should baby Jessica be enrolled in the Montessori school or the arts academy that requires child AND parent interviews? My family has had more heated debates over loyalty to the Sox versus the Cubs, or fake vs. real Christmas trees than about any political stance. Seriously, we suffered a decades-long cutoff when my uncle challenged my aunt's claim that Frank Sinatrs was the finest singer who ever lived. (To this day, I experience searing pain behind my eyes at the first bars of "My Way.") I can't imagine the stares of incomprehension I'd receive if I tried to whittle down the topics of "acceptable" dinner conversation. That act, in itself, would guarantee a few choice hand gestures in my direction. But, before you go thinking my family is a bunch of boorish, backwards heathens without the sense to come in out of a snowstorm, I maintain that we are also fiercely devoted to our -- and each other's -- kids; always willing to bring a meal or run an errand for a sick sister or nephew; and slavishly committed to a range of sentimental, heart-tugging rituals and traditions that brand our family as uniquely our own. This holiday season, I've decided to make one change, and like the church hymn says, "let it begin with me." Rather than dictate others' discussion parameters, or take responsibility to diffuse an insult from hitting its intended mark, I've decided to approach this year's festivities with an energy of openness. All the rules and recommendations, ultimately, come from a place of fear and anxiety, and we all carry enough of that baggage already. Sure, gathering around the table is akin to an open invitation to fisticuffs in my families' domiciles, but I doubt I help the process when I approach my family girding for the worst. I can't change them, and I'm not respecting their autonomy when I try to run interference. But perhaps, stepping across the threshold with an air of positive anticipation and joy at our motley gathering, rather than adopting the protective stance of a defensive lineman, may alter the course of the evening's energy for the better. Still, I'll probably choose the seat closest to my older brother: his bodybuilder girth is good cover if the salad plates go flying.