Once, when I was in high school back in Vermont, my older brother and sister had come home for Thanksgiving.
Accompanying my sister was her second husband, an architect named Ray. My brother didn't think much of Ray. And as I have previously referred to Ray as a horse's ass in this blog, I guess you would have to also mark me down as a Ray skeptic.
So several of us were in the living room watching TV. It was probably football.
During a batch of commercials, a public service announcement came on warning about alcohol-impaired driving. It showed some guy staggering all over the road as he tried to walk heel-to-toe for a police officer.
Ray was appalled. "How could a person get that drunk?" he asked in what I recall as a haughty tone.
My brother sighed. Getting that drunk was something he knew a little about.
He fixed a weary gaze on his brother-in-law.
"Well, Ray," he said. "You just keep drinking."
Ray fully understood he was being treated with disdain. And my brother would have been up for any form of discussion he wanted to pursue. But Ray let it pass. Maybe he deserved credit for maturity. But a truly memorable moment in Turner Family Holiday History was averted.
You know, now that I think about it, maybe it wasn't Thanksgiving. Perhaps it was Christmas.
The Christmas Ray elected to not get knocked on his ass in our living room.
Joy to the world.