Holiday traditions can’t be forced — they just become

Families often have their tra­di­tions, espe­cial­ly around the hol­i­days.  Whether it be a par­tic­u­lar dish served at the table or the Christmas Eve tra­di­tion of open­ing a new pair of paja­mas before set­tling in to watch It’s a Wonderful Life, we all have our fam­i­ly things that make the sea­son unique.

When I vis­it my par­ents’ home for Christmas, we all lis­ten to Dad read a Christmas sto­ry before din­ner.  It used to be the sto­ry of the birth of Christ found in Luke 2, but more recent­ly, it is a sto­ry that my father wrote about the Nativity from the shepherd’s point of view. 

When I was a child, we could open two presents.  One would be new paja­mas, and the oth­er was mine and my brother’s gifts to each oth­er.  It was a nice teas­er for the next day’s events.  Christmas din­ner was also served on Christmas Eve, with ham being the main entrée.  That meant a deli­cious ham and eggs break­fast for Christmas.  We nev­er hung our stock­ings until Christmas Eve and would always find an apple and an orange weigh­ing them down the next morn­ing, along with oth­er small sur­pris­es, a can­dy cane, and a choco­late Santa. 

I came from a home with par­ents who have now been mar­ried for 55 years.  Routine and con­sis­ten­cy were a way of life for us.  My chil­dren have lived with divorced par­ents and blend­ed fam­i­lies for almost 20 years.  The hol­i­days includ­ed jug­gling sched­ules, school events, and ensur­ing that they attend­ed every grand­par­ent and step­fam­i­ly func­tion plus both homes dur­ing the hol­i­day sea­son.  Yes, there were lots of presents and food for them, and yes, lots of love, as well.  But it was exhaust­ing.  Now that they are grown, we are try­ing to fig­ure out how to orga­nize events around my son’s sched­ule to accom­mo­date his life part­ner and her family. 

Whew!

I have tried to start tra­di­tions from a hearty break­fast on Christmas Eve morn­ing (my cho­sen allot­ted hol­i­day time in the divorce agree­ment), vis­it­ing Christmas light events, and dri­ving around the neigh­bor­hoods to see the dec­o­ra­tions.  I’ve tried many things, and we do all of them peri­od­i­cal­ly, but none have stuck. 

Now that my kids are grown, I wor­ry that they will look back on their times with me and noth­ing will stick out to them.  I will nev­er for­get the smell of ham and eggs on Christmas morn­ing grow­ing up or the feel of my beau­ti­ful peach paja­mas.  Christmas will nev­er seem com­plete with­out the Nativity or Dad’s Shepherd Story.  They are a part of me that is embed­ded in my DNA.  I won­der what my kids will remember. 

As I con­tem­plat­ed this, I noticed some­thing that plays on repeat every Christmas for the last sev­er­al years.  It is some­thing that I can­not say I paid much atten­tion to until recent­ly.  Every year, in the door­way from the din­ing room to the liv­ing room, I hang a ball of mistle­toe with a bell.  A small nail is always there year-round, await­ing the hol­i­day décor to grace it once again.  When the chil­dren were lit­tle, they would jump and hit the bell.  As they grew taller, and still today, they head butt it every time they go through the door­way with­out fail.  It’s not even con­tem­plat­ed; it is as nat­ur­al as breath­ing.  Who would have ever thought that this would be our tradition.

Traditions can­not be forced; they just become.  Amongst the chaos of our lives, a sim­ple dec­o­ra­tion has brought gig­gles and smiles every year.  It may be small and non-tra­di­tion­al, but it is ours.  And some­day, when I have crossed over, my kids may come across this seem­ing­ly sim­ple dec­o­ra­tion . . . and smile.