Traditions, dynamics, and celebrations.
'Twas the night before Christmas—and I, myself, lost in thought—pondered writing a poem, but then opted to not.
When I was a kid, my family treated Christmas eve like the day itself. Well, my mom's side of the family did. And when we hosted, I'd finish cleaning my room by throwing everything in the closet mere minutes before answering the door and collecting coats. Nat King Cole would be playing on the stereo. Then later, Kenny G, Mannheim Steamroller, and Paul McCartney for some reason. Eventually my grandfather would ask each of us to play backgammon by the fire until someone said yes. It's not that we didn't want to, he was just really frickin good... and there were plenty of distractions.
Wine, cheese, and crackers.
Eggnog, marzipan, and ferrero rocher.
My uncle, Eddie, knocking over the Weihnachtspyramide (wooden twirly windmill thing) in exactly the same way as the character from National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation, who's name is also Eddie.
Dinner would always devolve into a yelling match about something, though. My cousin, Colby, would look at me from across the table. He, his brother, Chris, and I weren't allowed to sit next to each other; which was totally fair given that they were known to fight until blood was drawn. From his seat across the table, Colby would flash a devilish grin that rivaled Jack Nicholson's Joker. His eyes would sparkle and his eyebrows would gloat. The entire expression would say "watch this" without uttering a single syllable.
His timing was perfect.
Always.
He'd key into whatever hot-button issue was brewing at the table and casually drop the most inflammatory comment on the subject he could think of while still feigning ignorance. Without fail, fireworks would follow and he, Chris, and I would slip away from the table to get a head start on dessert.
Every year on Christmas day, my dad would press to pick me up from my mom's earlier and earlier; and every year I felt more and more responsible for cushioning the emotional blow of telling him I'd actually prefer he show up later. The mornings always felt rushed. Since Colby and Chris had that same annual conversation with their dad, too, our family settled on celebrating together on Christmas eve to spread things out a bit.
It's different now. We all sort of moved away in different directions. Keeping in touch is a long-distance skill we never learned but are still working on. I guess disagreements have more space to fester, too.
All these years later, where custody agreements don't determine the celebration schedule, Christmas eve still feels like the big day. With snow falling outside, a fire crackling in the living room, and Nat King Cole on the speakers, I find myself grateful. I'm thinking a lot about the lives we've all chosen and what that means for their compatibility with one another. I've not quite mastered how to navigate the overlap. In fact, I can be pretty skittish about it, but it's something I'm working on.
I'm also quite proud of the ways I've prioritized and protected my own experience—without wearing the responsibility of cushioning everyone else's. I remind myself that they're doing the same. And I'm happy for us.
Whatever the holidays look like to you and those you spend them with, I hope you get to celebrate in ways that are meaningful to you.
Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night.
Our Daily MAP Year Prompt
115/365
What's your favorite holiday tradition? What would it look like to create a new one you loved?
onward.
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