The B Family isn’t exactly known for its boisterous nature. We’re not the wildest family on the block, or even on our floor, and certainly not in the stairwell. "A strong sense of duty eliminates the need for an alarm clock" is our family motto, and the closest we come to a shared personality trait is "good girl/boy." That label, incidentally, is one I’ve long envied. It combines the notion of well-deserved success with equally well-deserved sympathy and, nowadays, carries a frisson of rebellious potential – the "just you wait, she’ll break free soon" narrative. The male equivalent, "what a bloody nerd," doesn’t have quite the same ring to it, either in job interviews or at trendy bars (which, of course, we don’t frequent, because we have to work in the morning).
Given our love of security and our inherent do-gooder nature, the B Family doesn’t exactly attract anecdotes at the same rate as, say, consequence-blind narcissists. It is, therefore, with a touch of pride that I announce we’ve already celebrated Christmas. Last Saturday, December 7th, Mrs. B and I bundled up, donned our Santa hats (figuratively speaking), and tiptoed over to Little B’s apartment, armed with Christmas cake, cardamom coffee, and a gift. Candles flickered in the window, "Maybe This Christmas" played softly, and Little B’s eyes widened with surprise and anticipation. Mostly surprise, it turned out. Her initial reaction: "What the…? What’s going on? I’m actually supposed to be at work soon."
The reason for this premature Christmas celebration is rather mundane: Little B had decided to buy the very gift we’d already gotten her. This was our preemptive strike, our way of heading her off at the pass. And it turned out to be incredibly cozy, heightened by the thrill of breaking with tradition. As mentioned, we aren’t typically rebellious, which is perhaps why we often retell the following Christmas memory. Truthfully, it’s one of those stories you should probably keep to yourself because no matter how you phrase it, it will never sound as significant as it feels to me.
It was my and Mrs. B’s first Christmas together. We were hopeful, but the future was still uncertain. I spent the whole evening worrying about the gift I’d gotten her, as it was just as much for me (and considerably cheaper than one might think). She, in turn, worried about her gift to me – and with good reason. She’d bought the first seasons of "The West Wing" on DVD, even though neither of us owned a DVD player. Except, of course, for the one nestled in my gift to her. You see, nothing particularly remarkable about it. Sometimes you just buy the right gifts. And yet, decades later, as I write this, a warmth spreads through me. And then I know, I just know, that Christmas is near. The simple act of giving and receiving the perfect, interconnected gifts encapsulates the burgeoning joy and anticipation of our first Christmas together.
This seemingly small gesture became a powerful symbol of our shared future, a testament to our unspoken understanding and the silent promise of many Christmases to come. The memory holds a special kind of magic, a reminder of the early days of our relationship when everything felt fresh and full of possibility. The shared anticipation, the nervous excitement, and the ultimate joy of giving and receiving – these are the elements that transform a simple exchange of gifts into a cherished memory.
The anecdote, though seemingly trivial, reveals a deeper truth about the B Family. We might not be adventurous in the traditional sense, but we find joy in the quieter moments, in the shared experiences that strengthen our bonds. The early Christmas celebration with Little B and the memory of our first Christmas together are both examples of this. They highlight our thoughtfulness, our appreciation for tradition, and our willingness to bend the rules for the sake of connection. It’s in these small acts of love and consideration that the true spirit of the B Family shines through. We might not be the loudest or the most daring, but we are steadfast, and we find joy in the simple, shared moments that make up a life. And that, perhaps, is an adventure in itself.
