Traditon

The little boy-that-used-to-be On Christmas morning watched
the tree. He hid
beneath a man's disguise, But oh! the sparkle in his
eyes!

I found the above quote, by Della Adams Leitner, and I thought it captured how I perceive most of us feel on Christmas morning – still excited about what you are to receive yet restrained by our increasing maturity.

***

Ever year that I can remember before moving in with Michelle, Christmas morning took on a variation of the same events. I would be woken or wake my parents in the morning and my Mum and I would wait on the stairs for my Dad who went to the bathroom. Only when we were together did we open the door to the living room and go to the tree where our gifts awaited us. After the wrapping paper was torn and hugs and thank-yous were exchanged we would get dressed into the smart clothing for the day and my dad would make some rolls in sausage or bacon.

While my dad prepared my morning meal I would go across the back gardens to the Hamilton’s house to wish the family a happy Christmas and exchange gifts with my best friend Sparkie and his brother Andrew. The three of us would then go round to see our other best friend David to not only give him his Christmas gift but also to wish him a Happy Birthday.

With David collected, and his family given there hand shakes and kisses on the cheek, our quartet would then make its way back to my house where my breakfast (probably by this time a brunch) awaited along with the Hamilton’s who would have made thier way over to see my parents.

In later years these events would then follow a visit to our local so that David could be bought a beer and have even a little normality on his birthday.

This was our tradition, my tradition, and as the years go by its practice is less and less kept.

***

I no longer wake with my parents and therefore there is no more waiting on the stairs or rolls with sausage. I’m sure this is similar in tone if not method to what each of us left behind when leaving the house.

This year my family are dining out for Christmas Dinner (another tradition broken) and the meal is set to start at 1pm. This morning when I woke I was trying to plan what Michelle and I will do and where we will go at what time on Christmas morning before having to be at my mothers.

We have to go to Michelle’s mums to see her and Billy and his son Scott. We have to go to Deborah and Gavin’s, Michelle’s Sister and Brother-in-law, to see our Niece Cameron and Nephew Ryan. And we have to these things within two and half hours while returning home between visits and then again before visiting my Mum to collect the gifts for each group.

Understand that I know these are the things we have to do and also that I want to do them – it is important to see your family at Christmas after all, even your not quite yet in-laws. But of course time, ever the thief, has robbed me of all traces of the tradition I have known for all the life that is in my memory.

This is not the clocks first triumph over my Christmas customs. The first came when I decided I was too old to be read the Christmas poem my mum had read to me since I was a baby, I read it myself but it wasn’t the same. Next came when my sister was Married and moved away when I was 11. Every year previously she was always the first person I would wake at times too early for the whole family to rise. I would show her what had been left in my Christmas stocking and then she would doze while I sat on the floor beside her bed and read the comics which had been left for me.

Last year I didn’t even see my family at all on Christmas Day. My parents were down visiting My sister and my brother was working, but I at least got to see my friends in the usual manner.

***

Of course I am saddened that any semblance of my Christmas ritual is lost to me but when I really thought about it I realised that Michelle and I have the opportunity to begin new practises and build new traditions. There can be no plan to them, tradition is an organic practice which grows and evolves over time and is suddenly part of life without realising that it had even been conceived.

Growing up, I think, is about leaving behind those little pieces of your childhood over time and replacing them with your own actions and thoughts. To reiterate the point of Della Adams Leitner as I perceive it – childhood is not lost but merely hidden away to use as reference for the years that follow. The full quote reads: -

The little boy-that-used-to-be On Christmas morning watched the tree. He hid
beneath a man's disguise, But oh! the sparkle in his eyes! He watched his son
with great delight And how his heart leaped at the sight Of Junior opening up
his toys, And then . . . there were two little boys. One half past three, and
one . . . oh well, His age in years why need we tell: It did not matter as they
played With auto, train and gay parade. Circus and games and toy pop-gun I'm
sure I do not know which one Was happier . . . the half past three Or grown-up
lad-that-used-to-be.