In Search of Tradition

I never felt like my family had any real traditions for the holidays. We did the same thing each year, but nothing I knew of had been passed down through generations or originated in the homeland. Some families ate special meals, the way the grandparents had as children, and the great grandparents and back as far as people knew. My family had a routine. No traditions, just routine.

As I celebrate from a distance this year, my understanding of Christmas is evolving. I am imagining my family going through the motions as every year and longing to be a part of it. And now I know that I appreciate this routine, a routine that is my tradition, however recent or understated. The routine is rich because we follow it in love and compassion. It is rich because it is familiar and therefore comforting. If it does not feel like Christmas without it, it must be valuable and impactful. And isn’t that the point of tradition, after all? Tradition gives us a sense of where we came from, a meeting point for family. It allows us to connect with a past that brought us into our present, and sense that we are grounded.

This year, as I picture years passed, I appreciate the routine as something beyond this. I imagine standing at church with my candle lit, singing “Silent Night” with my mom and sister. I feel the drive home Christmas Eve, my eyes demanding sleep as I hear Christmas tunes on the radio and finally give in as the winding road to Silverado lulls my body into sleep. I picture sitting on the couch, opening Aunt Shawn’s gift, the allotted sneak-peak. My mom and sister watch the Pope even though we aren’t Catholic, then I drag up to bed, leaving them to their last-minute wrapping. I picture rising in the morning to wake Whitney, eventually opening stockings, then moving on to the presents under the tree. I see the tears elicited from just the right present and Dabney tearing open the tissue to find his new squeaker toy. Then it’s time for cinnamon rolls and a fried egg, mine over-hard. I smell the bacon and hear the pops as my mom bastes their eggs in the grease. Though I’ve wished the day were fluid in years past, lamenting the awkward switch from my mom’s to my dad’s house, I even long for the drive to my dad’s this year. I hear the Christmas CD I burned in high school blaring from the speakers as I drive the half hour to start celebrating all over again. I greet my dad by ringing the doorbell incessantly. He opens the door with a goofy look on his face and we soon begin an early dinner. We open presents and I anticipate the one strange gift, like an umbrella with silk flowers hanging all the way around. As I picture the routine, I am realizing that it is in fact the tradition I have longed for.

When we looked forward to our time in Germany, knowing we would miss Christmas with our families, I was eager to witness a true German Christmas. Perhaps I would find the tradition I had longed for, something to bring home with us and integrate into the routine next year. I wanted to find a way to celebrate in the way my ancestors had. In Germany, they celebrate Christmas on Christmas Eve. Some businesses are closed for a few days following, but life pretty much continues as normal after those few evening hours. We were fortunate to join Michael and Barbara’s family for their celebrations. They brought us to church with them, where we sang traditional German hymns, including “ O Come, All Ye Faithful” auf Deutsch. Then we went to their home, met Michael’s parents, and had champagne and crackers as we stood around the living room and distributed presents. Afterwards, we moved to the table and enjoyed a meal of creamy soup, a traditional French meat dish (mushrooms for me), salad, and a combination of fruit and cream for dessert. They said the most traditional Christmas meal for Germans is Bratwurst and potato salad, but it’s not their thing. Sufficiently stuffed, we sat around the table, drinking wine, chatting and listening as each of the four children grudgingly played their musical instruments.

As I soaked in our German Christmas experience, it struck me that their tradition, which I had eagerly awaited, was not far from my own. They did not eat the traditional meal or anything passed down through the generations. They opened presents in their own way, ate what felt celebratory to them, and made music, a simple expression of life’s abundance. I felt myself longing for my flute, so I could play “Angels from the Realms of Glory” for my mom as she wrapped presents or cooked. I had longed for tradition shared by my ancestors. I thought I would find this in Germany, but I found instead that tradition can be more universal than this. Families worldwide create tradition anew, and despite cultural differences, we find common ways to share our love and wealth with loved ones. We share music and talents and food that feels right and conversation, and in it all, we find that we are experiencing something rich and abundant, even if it takes time or distance to recognize that this is home.