Holidays with the Harpers 🎄 #TwoAndAHalfMen
Christmas at the Harper house was never “normal.” Then again, nothing about living with my brother Charlie and my son Jake was normal.
It started the week before Christmas. I had this great plan: hot cocoa, matching pajamas, heartfelt family bonding. I should’ve known better.
“Alan,” Charlie said one morning, lounging on the couch in a silk robe that cost more than my car, “you can’t force Christmas spirit. It has to come naturally. Like hangovers or unplanned children.”
I ignored him. “This year will be different. We’ll decorate the tree together, go caroling, build memories.”
Jake looked up from his video game. “Can my memory be skipping all of that and going straight to presents?”
My plan was already falling apart.
Day one: I dragged them to pick out a Christmas tree. Charlie tried to bribe the guy to deliver it and decorate it. Jake got stuck in the branches and somehow managed to break two ornaments before we even left the lot.
Back home, we put on Christmas music while I tried to get them to help hang lights.
“Do I look like a guy who handles wires and ladders?” Charlie asked, holding his martini like it was a priceless artifact.
“Can I use the staple gun?” Jake asked too eagerly.
“Absolutely not,” I said.
Ten minutes later, Charlie was sipping from a fresh drink while Jake was stapling lights to the wall like he was a holiday hitman.
The next disaster came in the form of Carol, Charlie’s girlfriend of the week. She showed up dressed like a sexy elf and tried to convince Jake Santa wasn’t real because, and I quote, “Billionaires run everything.”
Jake just blinked and said, “Cool. So Santa’s Elon Musk?”
By Christmas Eve, I was ready to give up. The house was half-decorated, the turkey was still frozen, and Charlie had turned the living room into a romantic “winter wonderland” complete with fake snow and an actual hot tub.
“Who puts a hot tub next to a Christmas tree?” I asked.
“People who know how to live,” he said, winking at Carol.
I escaped to the garage to breathe and rethink my life choices.
That’s when something strange happened.
Jake came in holding a box.
“I, uh… found this in the attic,” he said. “It’s Mom’s old Christmas stuff. Thought you might wanna see it.”
Inside were ornaments, handwritten cards, even a photo of our first Christmas as a family—back when things weren’t perfect but felt full of hope.
I sat down, suddenly remembering why I loved Christmas. It wasn’t about the perfect tree or the planned moments. It was about the mess, the chaos, the weird family traditions that make you laugh and cry at the same time.
So, I let go.
We ordered Chinese food instead of cooking. We watched old movies instead of caroling. Carol left in the middle of Home Alone 2 when Charlie made a pass at a woman in the commercial. Classic.
And then, Jake handed me a gift.
“I used my allowance. It’s not much.”
Inside was a coffee mug that said “World’s Okayest Dad.”
I looked at him, touched. “Thanks, buddy. This is… perfect.”
Charlie walked by and tossed me a box. “Got you something too. It’s a massage gift certificate. Thought you could use a little ‘relaxation.’” He did air quotes.
“Thanks, Charlie. That’s actually really thoughtful.”
“I know. But I charged it to your credit card.”
Of course.
Still, that night, with the lights half-working, Jake snoring on the couch, and Charlie asleep in a Santa hat with a scotch in hand, I realized something:
The Harper holidays may never be Hallmark material—but they’re ours. And somehow, that’s more than enough.
