Tradition

As I begin to reflect on my family vacation to St. John and think about what I want to write, memories of past Christmases flood back. I realize I can't write about my Christmas experience this year without reflecting on the previous 25.

For the first 25 years of my life, I spent Christmas in Upstate New York. I've always found great comfort in traditions, especially those involving my family. I think I always will.

Our Christmases (for as long as I can remember) went something like this. Christmas Eve morning I'd wake up to the sound of my Dad grinding coffee (actually, now that I really think about it, that was my alarm until he and my Mom stopped grinding coffee circa... 2000?). I'd roll out of bed, full of anticipation and excitement, as Christmas Eve was almost just as wonderful as Christmas. Downstairs, my parents would be listening to a Christmas Eve mass in England over my Dad's short-wave radio (now he can get that mass over satellite radio). More than anything, I remember how beautiful the boys' voices were as they sang. 

Sometimes we'd have to run off to the Town Square Mall if we had really procrastinated our Christmas shopping. Once, the Flynns had us over for a Christmas Eve morning gathering. I remember Diane's delectable cooking and even an Irish Coffee. But usually, we just spent the day hanging out around the house--listening to Christmas music (Handel, Wynton Marsalis, the Chieftans, Chanticleer, Bruce Cockburn, and more recently, Sarah McLachlan), playing games (often ones Grandma Nancy had got us the previous Christmas, always the best), watching Christmas movies (TBS's 24 hour marathon of A Christmas Story is the most memorable), or movies I've always somehow associated with Christmas-- the Sound of Music-- which always aired on Christmas Eve.

When we were young, we'd attend the Children's Mass at St. James, which I loved mostly because of how beautiful our church was decorated and how amazing the folk group's music was. When we were in high school and college, we'd stay up for midnight mass. Most memorable was the darkened church alight with candlelight and Jan's chanting of major events in the Church's history before mass started. Sort of weird, but enchanting at the same time. Once, after midnight mass, we helped Myles do his paper route at 1:30 am. The peaceful silence and whiteness of the sky in the middle of the night were comforting. Last year, we discovered the UU church around the corner (I guess you could say, for one reason or another, I had fired the Catholic Church a few years ago). It was different from what we were used to, but welcoming.

When we were young, we'd be allowed to open one present before dinner, and if my memory serves me correctly, it was from our Grandma Nancy. (My siblings might beg to differ on this, but oh well.) Gram always got us a new game, a new game we'd never heard of. A classic game. I know when I am a parent some day, I'll hope to continue this tradition. Although the iPad is revolutionizing games kids play, tangible games are great to have lying around the house. Later, we'd open presents from Grandma Jano and Grandpa Jack. (Which were also often new games!)

Christmas Eve dinner has always been my most favorite meal of the year. Again, I think it has a lot to do with a preserved tradition, but also because my parents are wonderful cooks. For an hor d'oeuvre, we'd have brie and crackers, which always somehow disappeared about two seconds after my Mom put it out. A few years in a row, I made my famous guacamole, which has since vastly improved (once I discovered the joys of garlic, lots of citrus, and handfuls of fresh cilantro). When we got older, we enjoyed Samuel Smith's Nut Brown Ale and Oatmeal Stout as well as Sierra Nevada's festive Celebration Ale. For the main course: beef tenderloin (always twice as much as we needed so we could have roast beast sandwiches for dinner on Christmas Day), bearnaise sauce (to die for), pearl onions (my Dad always loved them; us kids, not so much), and my Mom's famous twice-baked potatoes. As we got older, conversation dominated the table as our plates emptied, and we'd sit for what seemed like hours just talking. Sharing our thanks. Laughing. That's what meals should be about-- sharing good food and drink, conversation, and thanks with the people you love.

Christmas Day would come, and, of course, we'd wait eagerly at the top of the stairs while my parents/Santa finished up, drank a pot of coffee (sometimes with a little Kahlua, a once-a-year-occurrence), and called us down to open presents. 

After we opened presents, we'd prepare for our annual Brunch with Bev. I remember most often being in charge of the fruit salad, while everyone else helped with bacon (extra crispy), bagels, and eggs. Bev would arrive around 11 am or noon, and we'd enjoy a great feast (after she helped fix all of our computer woes and download our new King's Quest games). Later, Dick and Susan would come over, and we'd sit in the living room talking, laughing and eating cheese and crackers. (Christmas won't be the same without Dick, as he passed away this year.) More recently, we'd head next door to enjoy the McManus's annual Christmas Party--Kathy's warmth and kindess and Mike's hilarity--then heat up the leftovers for another feast.

(When I was teaching, Christmastime always highlighted a stark dichotomy--one that will always stay with me, reminding me of the hardships our impoverished kids face, and reminding me of my desire to do something to help them transcend poverty and be successful. I was so blessed to have a healthy family and good food and cheer. Yet, I couldn't help but feel sadness for many of my students, who, on the day before break, often looked helplessly despondent knowing they'd have to spend 10 days at home.)

The day after Christmas, we'd pile into the van and make the 3.5 hour drive to Buffalo. When we were kids, we'd stay with my grandparents on Starin and sometimes with Grandma Nancy on Linden. I remember her sitting in her old rocking chair whistling a tune, a tune only she knew, while we played with cards at her feet. Aside from seeing our grandparents, which was always a highlight, we loved visiting with our aunts and uncles and cousins. Some years we saw only a few cousins, others about 20!

When I have my own family someday, I'll preserve this Christmas tradition, or our own version of it. But, it will always include generosity and giving, sharing thanks, remembering what's important, good food, conversation, and those we love and hold closest to us no matter where they are. I know that the values on which this tradition is built have shaped who I am today.

So, without fail, every Christmas night I'd drift off to sleep feeling incredibly blessed. For me, whether in Upstate New York, Portland, or St. John (a once-in-a-lifetime occurrence), above all else, Christmas will always be about family.