Embrace the familial fire
Trevor Mallard has been tasked with rooting out workplace bullying in politics. The Speaker of the House says government can be a robust and challenging workplace. Amateur. Clearly he’s never enjoyed/endured a Christmas where he’s been encouraged/forced to eat one more fruit mince pie or slice of glazed ham; or to drink just one more glass of bubbly or dad’s homebrew beer.
Clearly he’s never struggled silently through yet another retelling of past misdemeanours and embarrassments before a broad collection of family and friends astonished to learn, once more, where you put your private parts when you were five.
For many, Christmas is a trip back to family, back in time, a retreat to the cone of silence, inside which all external silliness and concerns simply fade away. To be replaced by more familiar, traditional inequities.
Eat, drink and verbally abuse merrily. Expect it back in good measure.
Workplace bullying? Terrible business, and while you’re at it, have another turkey leg, dear – what’s my daughter-in-law feeding you anyway?
Metoo? About time, I say, but lay off the pav, darling, remember once on the lips is forever on the hips.
More inclusiveness and diversity? Absolutely, all for it, but we’ll get to play your Rainbow NZ Transgender Choir Christmas album after we listen to my Bing Crosby, Frank Ifield and that lovely Michael Buble. Canadian, I think; talk about diversity.
Often we wonder why we do it; why we endure these many slings and arrows of passiveaggressive injustice that were over our heads as children but now strike us repeatedly, firmly in the face. Why we choose to pack up our families and travel many hours to an annual gorging on food, drink and sometimes our own poor souls.
But what does not kill us makes us stronger. It is in such moments, invariably in humble homes of our sturdy, robust regional origins, that we find relaxation and build resilience for the new year ahead.
Arguments about the ethnicity and gender of Santa fade away as food slowly digests in front of the telly and Tammy the Briscoes lady flits by on Santa’s sleigh.
You soon realise the boss is an amateur at workplace bullying compared to your parents: When are you going to give me some grandchildren? Still not married, you two? Want a job – maybe start with a haircut . . ..
Apparently it makes no difference if you are 15 or 50. Such things serve as a reset of more urbane urban sensibilities; a regional reality check from the sometimes debilitating fixation on social media channels, office politics and the latest gender issue.
Russian and Chinese surveillance? Let them look as you recline on the lounger by a warm sea. Trump is trumped by trifle and family trivia. Fake news is the family story retold so many times it bears little resemblance to historical truth.
It all matters little for a few precious weeks when the world is whittled down to a few square metres of dining table, lounge, deck and sand.
And if you emerge unscathed through that familial fire, you are ready to go again.
So Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year.
Workplace bullying? Terrible business, and while you’re at it, have another turkey leg, dear – what’s my daughter-in-law feeding you anyway?