Creating Family Traditions

My Chinese daughter-in-law is excited about her first American Christmas.  All the preparations and decorations she sees on TV and in the stores remind her of the month-long celebrations of her own country and she is eager to join in on the fun of the season.

Chinese culture is big on the giving of gifts.  One can never visit a home without giving a small token (most often food) to the host or hostess.  Gifts preclude the asking of a favor and thank you gifts follow after a kindness is given. If two people exchange gifts and one outdoes the other, it becomes a competition and is usually followed by a second gift of greater value.

She is mesmerized by all the sales and ads, but I warned her not to let it lure her into buying something extravagant. I advised her not to let her old custom rule her American Christmas. The giving of Christmas gifts does not have to be expensive. It is always better to give something from the heart. 

My husband’s family is Czech, so along with the traditional Christmas dishes, my mother-in-law serves kolaches and sauerkraut. My family serves tamales and buñuelos next to the glazed ham and the Texas pecan pie.

I suggested that she consider celebrating Christmas with a mixture of both cultures – American and Chinese, a holiday celebration that represents both of them.  They could make yummy foods that remind them of their winter holiday and decorate their home with both cultures.

Isn’t that what we did when we first started our own homes and families?  We combined the traditions of two families into one, and maybe we started our own.  Once we decided what we wanted from the holiday, we all built on from there.  

Daddy’s Favorite

On December 24^th, my dad would have turned 92, but he died two weeks after he turned 84. He never met any of my wild, rambunctious extended family – all my children’s spouses, seven of my eight grandchildren, or my dear husband, but if he had he would have been deliriously happy for me. 

Family meant everything to my dad.

He loved his siblings, those alive and dead, and he adored his parents, speaking of them with the greatest of respect, but we, his own family, he put above everyone and anything else.  

We were lucky to have such a good man as our father. Not everyone can say that.

Oh, he was strict and stubborn and opinionated.  He was Old World old-fashioned. Letting his daughters out into the modern world frightened him and we gave him plenty of reason to worry, but there was never any doubt how much we loved each other.

He had this wonderful knack of treating us like ladies (Ladylike traits were not valued in the late 60’s and early 70’s. It was the era of Free Love and the start of feminism.), and though we protested his admonitions, we loved the attention.

He taught me to waltz, first by carrying me in his arms when I was little, later by placing my tiny feet on his shoes when I was in grade school.  On holidays, he would play records on his stereo, and after waltzing with my mother (who would bat at him with a dish towel and go back to fixing lunch), my sisters and I would like up in hopes he would ask us to dance.

He tucked us into bed at night when we were tiny.  It wasn’t an ordinary tuck and run.  He would visit with each of us and tell us stories or sing to us.  He would cover us up, asking if we wanted to be wrapped like a taco or an enchilada, then he would kiss us on the forehead and bless us.  He would do the extended Sign of the Cross, the one where you do the sign of the cross four times – once on the forehead, the second over the mouth, the third across the chest, and the fourth – a large cross from forehead to chest.  He would wish us a good night, turn off the lights, and leave us safe and smiling in the dark. 

When we got older, he would bless us before we retired for bed or when we left the house, but eventually, we got modern. And it stopped.

All our lives, he had a wonderful knack of making each of us, sons and daughters, feel as if we were THE special one.  Ask any one of us, and we each will swear we were Daddy’s Favorite.

HoneyBunch and my dad missed meeting each other by months, but they would have liked each other immensely.  They are so much alike – intelligent, gentlemanly, well-spoken jokesters. They are both fierce, family men.

I love you, Daddy.  I was so blessed to have you as my father.  You are always in my heart.  

My Life Is a Lifetime Movie

Happy Seventh Anniversary, HoneyBunch.

Being married to you is the easiest, most fun, and most magical time of my life.  I feel as if we have always belonged to each other; the forty-five combined years we spent with others fade into nothing when we are together. 

I never knew what being truly in love was like until I married you.

Baby, you complete me. You are my clone; my soul mate. Scary thought, but true. The person who was just a friend is . . . suddenly the only person you can ever imagine yourself with. You know me better than I know myself.  I, of course, am the prettier one.

It was the million tiny little things that when you added them all up, they meant we were supposed to be together.  It is like . . . magic.  In the movie of our lives, you get to play Tom Hanks and I get to play Meg Ryan.

I’m your density.  You know how to make laugh, how to make me happy, and how to encourage me. I am the only one who gets (and appreciates) your jokes.  I am here to care for you and make sure you get your daily supply of tomatoes and yogurt. Since God’s time-space continuum is different than ours, it is no wonder it took Him fifty-six years before He led you onto my path.  I am not complaining; I am grateful for every minute left of my life I get to spend with you.

When you realize you want to spend the rest of your life with somebody, you want the rest of your life to start as soon as possible. I knew when you asked me to marry you after only six weeks of dating, and we married after only knowing each other for three months, that our life would be perfect from the very start.  

I married you so I can kiss you anytime I want.  And I find myself wanting to kiss you often, especially when you shower our children and grandchildren with your unselfish love. I find your kind heart very sexy. You should be kissed and often and by someone who knows how - me.

When I look at you, and I . . . and I’m home. Life on this patch of dirt takes on special meaning because you are here, next to me, only a few steps away, all day long. You give my life peace and joy and safety.

My heart is, and always will be, yours. I may not say I love you as many times as I should, but then, HoneyBunch, everything I do is to show my love and respect for you.

As you wish, my dearest HoneyBunch. 

In November 22, 1963

Sister Mary Gisela was admonishing the eighth grade choir for not projecting loud enough when the Mother Superior of our Catholic school ran in and whispered something into her ear before running out again.

Sr. Gisela looked horrified, then she announced that our President had been shot.  We needed to kneel and pray for his recovery – now! 

She led us in prayer as we wrapped our minds around the incredulity that people existed in this world who would dare shoot a President.  

We remembered the celebration of the day before when President Kennedy had visited our city and the love we all felt for our charismatic, Catholic president.

Soon after, Mother Superior walked in again and we listened as she addressed us.  Our President was dead, killed by an assassin’s bullets. 

School was being called off and our parents were coming for us. 

I was too numb to cry. I was thirteen.  I didn't understand that such ugliness could exist in the world.  Not then.   

Christmas Gift Exchanges

Last year, my three grown up kids asked if they could swap names and do a Christmas gift exchange.  It was so successful that they decided to it again this year.

We number fifteen now in our “immediate” family and that becomes a lot of individual Christmas presents to buy.  We all have blended families so my kids and I have other “immediate” family circles on our Christmas list.

Believe me; the grandkids have done the math, and they may wish we hadn’t.  They are kids, after all, and they love getting stuff. They may not like what their parents decided, but I applaud their solution.

As grandparents, HoneyBunch and I are not included in the name swap, but I have claimed myself the grandmother who always buys the grands a set of pajamas at Christmas.  I might throw in a snuggly or a book, but I stay away from anything more expensive or complicated. I’ll leave that for Santa (their parents or the other grandparents) to buy.  My present may not get oohs and aahs, but I want them to know I care for their needs and not their wants.  

 Everyone wrote their names on slips of paper, and to help their “Secret Santa” find them a gift, they listed three hobbies and three things they wanted that might cost $20 or less.  The couples swapped names with each other and the seven swapped names also. I saw some sad faces, but we were adamant about setting a limit on the greed that comes with the season. 

Everyone was supposed to keep who they chose a secret, but by the end of the day, the only one who hadn’t figured out who he had was the seventeen-month-old baby.  

I prefer Christmas presents that represent the season – games or craft kits that involve the family and bring them closer. I also like gift exchanges with a theme or a common objective. I especially like inexpensive gift swaps where all you have to buy is a pair of cheerful, Christmas socks or a beautiful, new Christmas ornament, or where everyone shares dozens of freshly baked, homemade Christmas cookies.

Our writing critique group does a White Elephant Exchange with gently used books, and I have ended up with real treasures. The thought stays with me all year, and before I donate my old books to the nearby library, I keep one or two that might end up being my Christmas present at the next book exchange.

When I blogged on this last year (You might want to refer to the comments on an older blog dated October 29, 2012.), we had several other great suggestions.  

One family exchanges dollar gifts. (Yes, gifts that cost ONE dollar.) Isn’t that intriguing? Another family donates to a college scholarship or a charity in each other’s names.  It started as a present to their father who didn’t want more “stuff” around his house, and it became a tradition after he was gone.

Christmas is not about greed and avarice; it is about family and selflessness. It’s about spending happy and fun times with each other because at the end of the day, after every box has been unwrapped and opened, and the sparkle of the day is gone, the most precious gift we exchange with each other is love of family.