From
the time I was six or seven until well into high school, my family’s home was
where most of my mother’s family gathered for Thanksgiving and Christmas meals.
It wasn’t that we had the largest house to accommodate assorted aunts, uncles,
cousins, boyfriends, girlfriends and my grandmother. But our house had the
largest space available for the tables – a large screened porch which was
eventually enclosed to become a den. (Even in New Orleans, Christmas could be on
the cool side.)
For
a time, one very long table was sufficient to handle the family. Then a card
table was added to handle the growing children. And then another. Eventually,
two long tables were needed.
My
parents prepared most of the food, and I think this was the cause of the demise
of the gatherings. As they got older, it became too much work, and the
gatherings had ended by the time I had graduated from high school.
But,
for the child that was me, the gatherings were great fun and eagerly anticipated – noise, laughter, the
occasional argument, the food and desserts, playing with my cousins. It was a
tradition even before I knew what that meant. (A related one was the gathering
of family and friends at my father’s business in downtown New Orleans on Mardi
Gras day – a place to escape the crowds and find a bathroom.)
We
grew up; the family scattered in various places around the South; one of us
moved way up north to St. Louis. The tradition of the big gatherings at holiday
times fractured into small fathers celebrating with themselves.
For
a time, my wife and I spent long hours in the car, going back and forth to
Shreveport or New Orleans for holidays, until we decided we had to have our own
traditions for our two boys.
One
tradition started in December, 1985: the baking of the Christmas bread. A local
grocery store had a monthly magazine about food and recipes, and that year had
a recipe for Christmas Wreath Bread. I was in the bread-baking habit back then,
and so I decided to make it. It was a hit with the family – most likely because
of the filling: chopped cranberries, pecans, butter, sugar, and spices, which
any of us would be glad to eat straight without the bread.
I’ve
made the bread every Christmas since then, with the exception of 2006, when we
spent the holiday with my oldest son in Phoenix (and met the future
daughter-in-law). But 27 years and only one excused miss counts as a tradition,
I think.
In
Not
So Fast: Slow-Down Solutions for Frenzied Families, Ann Kroeker argues for
the observance of family traditions, and more than traditions at only the major
holidays. Traditions like family board game night, or the birthday honoree
getting to choose the menu for all meals for the day, or annual vacations with
family to the same place. These are the things that not only glue families
together; these are the things which come to express the meaning of family.
Consider your family when you were
growing up, and your family now. What traditions can you remember, and what
traditions are important?
Over at The HighCalling during April, we’re discussing Not
So Fast. To see where this week’s discussion is, and what others are
posting about, please visit The HighCalling.
Photograph by George Hodan
via Public
Domain Pictures. Used with permission.
