Tradition
“Traditions remind us where we come from and help us carve out the path ahead.” - Unknown
There is a photo that hung proudly in my childhood home that always stuck out amongst the rest. It was a rare day when the joy inside each of my family members was depicted in their smiles. Even rare was that, for the only time in my family’s history, a photo was taken that no one complained about how they looked.
After years of being “robbed” by small-town politics and “biased judging,” my father (and his business) had won the local Chowder Festival. It was both a miracle and a momentous occasion. What was captured afterward was easily the best photo my family had ever taken and arguably our happiest moment.
Well, it was their happiest moment. I wasn’t in it; I wasn’t there at all. I can’t remember why I wasn’t involved that week, but I can remember the excitement when everyone returned home to re-tell the story of our glory and the big trophy that lived in our home.
For years, I stared at that photo on the wall with annoyance that I wasn’t included, but now I marvel at the fact that most families wouldn’t say that their happiest moments revolved around a bowl of chowder or a preteen girl (my sister) dressed in a handmade corn costume to help entice foot traffic to our booth.
My family was not traditional, and outside of moments of unnecessary comparison, we liked it that way.
For the entirety of my childhood, my father was an Innkeeper. My parents ran a series of small New England Inns, and our family lived “on property” until my fourth birthday. My father loved to tell the story that on the evening of our move, we stopped off at a hotel, and I, as a toddler, walked into the place as if I owned it because I immediately assumed that it was my new home.
Growing up in the Hospitality Industry shaped our family. Childhood tantrums were not acceptable in the presence of guests; my father was always on call, and our holidays always took a back seat since those were the busiest days at the Inn. We opened Christmas presents early in the morning before people were called into work and moved our extended family celebrations to days after.
Our main holiday tradition was ensuring that other families’ traditions went smoothly. My sister and mother helped seat guests, and I hung coats twice my size, all while my father orchestrated everything from the background. It was unconventional, but it was what we knew, and there was pride in coming together as a family to make special memories for others.
Through it all, I learned two important lessons:
It doesn’t matter what day you choose to celebrate; the company makes the holiday.
Old ladies love dimples. Even if I gave them the wrong coat, I knew one smile would ensure I left with cash in my pocket.
Years later, my sixth-grade teacher asked me, “What? Do you think you are going to be able to show people your dimples and get whatever you want in life? That’s not how the real world works, buddy.”
All I could think was, “It’s worked so far, lady.”
When it came to our family celebrations, my parents took pieces from their childhoods that they wanted to share with my sister and me. Over time, we started to find our way into what felt best for us and not necessarily what was expected.
Thanksgiving became a day when we enjoyed snacks throughout the day while family members (specifically my mother) lounged around instead of waiting all day for a formal meal. We enjoyed Christmas not only because it fit around my father’s work schedule but also because of the calm before the storm that came a few days later when we traveled to Connecticut to spend time with both sides of the family.
As time went on and family members passed away, our traditions changed. We gathered at different places and on different days each year. But the real beauty was in the small moments that emerged from our new circumstances.
In my twenties, my sister would come into town early before the holidays, and we would go out on the town. My friends quickly referred to us as the “trouble train” since there was almost an unwritten guarantee that everyone in attendance would have at least one more drink than they should. While the laughter and dancing were highlights, my favorite part was playing and enjoying life with someone I loved so much. After all, we had been through, it felt incredibly satisfying to let our hair down and be free for at least one evening.
My mother and I would spend holidays watching movies in her small apartment. For a woman who was especially anxious about the holidays, we always found the holidays that we had for ourselves most enjoyable. We would spend the whole day talking about life and the world and laughing inappropriately at things we shouldn’t have. After a rough stretch in my teens where our searches to find ourselves caused us to be at odds, there was a feeling each year of pride that we had gotten to the depth of our relationship.
In turn, my father would host one of the holidays with guarantees of wine and games. Although the food and wine were always tasty, my favorite moments were when my father would take my sister and me on walks in nature near where he lived. It allowed us to enjoy quality time with him and a nice change of pace from the shouting and furniture breaking of playing “Catchphrase” the night before.
None of the moments I hold dear to this day were complicated or required anyone to do anything out of the ordinary.
One of the most challenging parts of the grief process is that you try, especially on holidays, to recreate the feelings of the past. No matter how hard you try to recapture moments or make memories similar to those that came before, it isn’t possible when those who helped to create them are no longer around. You can only attempt to create new traditions and new memories.
Over the past few years, I have started to implement new traditions that put less stress on the holiday season and create more opportunities to celebrate with the people I love throughout the year. It helps to remind me how much of a family I have in my life instead of solely focusing on those who are missing.
The first tradition I installed was randomly surprising one friend a year with a day in their honor. Instead of waiting for a significant life event, I felt like it would be fun to celebrate someone I loved randomly in a big public way that I would despise if someone tried to do it for me. In addition to planning a day filled with events that only they would love, I also included a customary sash and public proclamation so that anyone around would know whose day it was.
I keep the pictures on my phone to remind me how good it feels to celebrate and embarrass the people you love.
Second, and most importantly, I have started creating singular holidays with the people who mean the most to me. In truth, it started with my best friend and me sending each other sex toys once a year since we were notoriously single. But over time, it has evolved as a chance to take one day out of the year to celebrate my relationship with someone I love in a way that we agree best represents our journey together.
The dates themselves don’t have to be set in stone, just the intention to celebrate each other at some point during the year.
A year ago, I flew home for Christmas to spend the holiday with my family, not knowing it would be the last time I would spend with my mom. Our family looks a little smaller this year as we build new traditions for the holidays going forward. It isn’t always easy, but I know that it is what those we love would have wanted.
It feels like a lifetime ago that my family celebrated the glory of chowder. As I head into this holiday season, I am doing my part to keep the memories of the past present in my mind.
I hope everyone who reads this can spend this time of year with those they love most, and if the holidays are challenging, I hope that you permit yourself to start new traditions that fill you up instead of taking from your cup.
More than anything, I wish you all presence. These moments are fleeting; none of us know who they are, our last, or which memories will live on in our hearts. The hope is that you are present enough to witness and hold onto as much as possible.
Looking back later in life, as your life and traditions have changed, your future self will be happy you did.
Happy Holidays.
With Love,
Clayton