Friday, December 20, 2013

Traditions

Tradition!  Instantly my mind goes to the song in "Fiddler on the Roof" and the dancing.  In some ways, not too far from my family.  But, also I think of all the Christmas past.....to Christmas present.

The times of our childhoods
to the days of having children of my own.

As a child, we had traditions.  Of opening ONE present on Christmas Eve, then going to Midnight Mass.  Midnight Mass as a child was mysterious and wondrous, having a difficult time staying awake during the sermon, but enjoying all the music.  As I got older, I got to sing in the choir and we sang latin Masses.  One wondrous Christmas Eve, we got out of Midnight mass to find it had snowed.  I remember the amazement we children had, and the concern of our dad about driving home.   The Christmas past was spent opening presents, eating a butter top coffee cake for breakfast and then time at our grandparents.  My favorite memories are those holidays spent at Grandma's house after we had Christmas at home.  The old folk would stay in the kitchen and talk in Arabic and drink Syrian whiskey and black coffee.  The men would watch football in the living room, and  there was lots of food (mostly Syrian).  

Now Christmas is all about the getting of present for my children, but still a joyous and amazing event.  We get a tree, and decorate it, open presents, eat and play.  Of course here in Texas we don't ever expect snow (although my seven year old is ever hopeful). My daughter asked for Baklava for dessert this year.  Maybe that Syrian meal tradition can be carried on.  
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But, although I expected to write about our Christmas, as I started to go through old pictures, I found our lives more than that tradition.  As I looked at the pictures, they WERE the tradition.  They fell into patterns of my childhood.  There, in order, were the Christmas pictures, followed by birthdays (my sister's, then mine, then my brother's).  Easter came next, with us lined up in our newest outfit of the year, awkwardly smiling, growing older each picture.  A few vacations, the zoo or elephant rocks. And then Christmas again. A progression of traditions.  The pictures abruptly stopped when my father died.  I still have the camera, although in this digital age, it sits unused.  

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