Holiday Traditions: the Good, the Bad, and the Ridiculous

With the onslaught of the holidays (and yes, I do mean "onslaught"), I'm always prone to thinking of lost loved ones. And no one looms larger in my fond memories than my mother, the undisputed Queen of Christmas.

Every Christmas, it was always the same with her.

"Mom, what would you like for Christmas?" I'd ask every year, rendering me the poster boy for Einstein's definition of insanity.

"I don't want anything. Just for us to be one big happy family." This was her maddening stock answer, yet we continued to play the game yearly. It was maddening for several reasons: A) It didn't help anyone; and B) I'm not so sure we were ever "one big, happy family."

Don't get me wrong. There were good and happy times, but there was also a lot of discord over the years. And, no, I'm not blameless either (Hello, bad boy teenager years! Where've you been? Never mind.). Maybe when we were kids, I might've considered us a "big, happy family," but then again I remember being bullied and beaten by my older brother. I had big, happy bruises to show for it.

But I digress... I believe Mom looked forward to the holidays more than anyone in our family and she was a staunch believer in tradition. For crying out loud, she kept up the Santa Claus routine up until we were in college. Did we object? Not really. Why, I hear you asking? Probably because it made her happy.

She was such a traditionalist that one year when I suggested we have Christmas at my house because I didn't want her doing all the work, she looked at me like I'd just admitted to murdering Santa Claus.

Her jaw dropped. Her gaze stabbed me with visual icicles. "Why, Stuart...you KNOW I have Christmas every year. You KNOW that!"

Sacrilege! Never again did I dare to bring that up.

Another Christmas tradition was going to church on Christmas Eve. Oh, man, did I ever hate that, especially as a kid. It's miserable enough for children to suffer through a stuffy sermon while awaiting the Magical Day of Christmas to arrive, but the church my parents chose to torture us with was incredibly mind-numbingly, butt-deadeningly long and dull. At times, those services could last up to two hours . In fact, it wasn't just at Christmas, but every service I ever attended was excruciatingly unendurable. Pretty soon, the church expanded into several locations and the preacher couldn't keep up so he videotaped himself from another church.  

(Much to my nieces' amusement, I nicknamed it "Super Extended Video Church," and swore that the preacher was recording his message because he couldn't be bothered to get out of bed. While my nieces were amused, my mom wasn't so much.)

And then there were the family breakfasts where we traditionally ate at a hotel's buffet. This is where my mom would attack us, holding out her plate, asking everyone around the table in turn, "Would you like some of my food? How 'bout it? No? What about you? Take my bacon! TAKE IT!"

Now, I suppose it had something to do with my mom's midwestern upbringing, always displaying her Missouri graciousness and hosting even while dining out. But I really didn't get it. It's not like all the food we'd care to eat was less than six feet away in the buffet line. I suppose she wanted to save us that unnecessary six foot walk. Or something.

There were many, many more traditions that we adhered to, mostly of my mom's (and dad's) making. And we continued them up until my mom passed away, even though we'd outgrown a lot of them or even if some of them no longer made sense. Keeping the traditions alive made her happy, and seeing her happy put a kick into my step as well.

So, every Christmas, I do get nostalgic and think back on the nutty, crazy, goofy, silly, yet ultimately endearing traditions that we shared as a family. For at least one day out of the year, I suppose we were "one big, happy family," warts and all. Old traditions have somewhat fallen by the wayside as I suspect they do in every family, while new ones are forged and the circle continues. Mostly, though, I miss my parents. I tip my eggnog to them and now you guys have gone and got me all mushy. And I hate being mushy.

Happy holidays everyone and enjoy your traditions, new and old.