Traditions Die Hard
Laurie’s mom passed away two or three years ago, and now Laurie carries on the tradition for her nieces, nephew, and daughter. She had a talk with her sister-in-law and sister and decided it was time the tradition moved on, the kids have outgrown it. All but Laurie’s daughter knows the Santa deal, and really, they’re in high school. Isn’t it time? How many “jeweled pins” does a kid need, and how many chapsticks and combs do they need in their stockings? Time to be done with this tradition. Laurie sighed with relief when they agreed; no more stressful stalking of antique stores looking for suitable pins and brooches.
The adults were floored at the reaction when the teenagers were told there would be no stockings hung at Grandpa’s house this year, or after. The long-faced boy asked, “Does this mean we won’t get a pin?” Laurie’s sister-in-law overheard a conversation between two of the teen cousins that reduced her to tears and sent her to the phone to let Laurie know it might not be the season yet to let this tradition pass. The girls are devastated!
Some traditions die hard. We’ve had poppers with our dessert at Christmas for a long, long time. These are fancy (and rather pricey!) little cardboard tubes that snap when you pull the ends. Inside is a bunch of little nonsense probably made in China, and a paper king crown that everyone wore all day and pocketed the little miniatures inside as if they were some great gift. “What did you get? Look, I got this!”
When our numbers swelled to 30 and the price of the poppers kept going up, I made the decision to not have them. That was three years ago. But we had to have them, the kids told me. So, we kept the tradition popping. But something happened this year. With the move, a funeral, keeping up with my mom, trying to get the house sold, finishing this house…I forgot to get them. So, this tradition will end this week, by default. The rally cry will be “But we always do that!” We’ll probably survive and move on. That’s how tradition moves into the next season as a memory.