Vernacular Genres

Up until last year, my parents and I would visit my father's sister, my aunt, for dinner on Christmas' Eve at this really nice Mexican restaurant in Houston. My aunt was despised by all of us. I won't go into the details, but she was a miserable person who we all loathed seeing. We only had to see her one night of the year. They day before Christmas we would meet up, have dinner, slam down margaritas simply to be able to bear this woman's presence, then finally leave, grateful that the one night of the year we all dreaded had passed. Being under 21, I was, of course, the designated driver. During the ride back, we would all piss and moan about how awful this particular family member was. Those trips back home were always fun. After finishing the meal and finally relaxing in the car, as awful as it sounds, we would pick on her and all of the moronic things that came out of her mouth that night. Say what you want about me, but if anyone deserves this kind of criticism and hatred, it would be her. Despite it all, those rides home really did serve as a bonding moment between my parents and I. Add to it the fact that having dinner with her was the last hurdle before Christmas arrived, and everyone deserves to be happy. We always drove my mother's Honda to these get-togethers. Being behind the wheel of her car always reminds me of those trips. The name of the restaurant that we always went to escapes me at the moment, but it was located off of I-10 in the West side of Houston, a part of town I rarely traveled to. So that, too, reminds me of such trips. For a few years, I wore this one sweater that I still have, actually. Beyond that regular event, I seldom wore that sweater. Maybe I saw it unfit to wear it outside of our Christmas' Eve dinner, maybe I didn't. Whatever the case, I never wore it. Unfortunately, though, we aren't able to take these beloved dinners with my aunt any more, she passed away last year. I'm not grateful that she is no longer with us, I'm not that sick. I am grateful that we no longer have to see her once every year, though. In a way, though, I do kind of miss those rendezvous'. I miss the trips back to our house after the dinner. In a time of my life where I rarely had an opportunity to spend quality time with my parents, those trips served as a great opportunity to joke and converse with my parents at ease.