A Man of Tradition

If I could capture my father with one word...well, actually that would be impossible, but if I narrowed it down to three descriptors, one would have to be "traditional". Not in the imposing, this-is-the-way-things-are way but in the celebratory, I-love-to-create-a-legacy way. Whether we were doing birthday strings or cooking a Thanksgiving turkey on the ole family rotisserie, there were certain traditions that Dad cherished because they were part of our fabric.

And then there was Christmas. If Dad loved Halloween and adored Thanksgiving, he treasured Christmas. It was the one time of year when we knew we would all be together. From the homemade advent calendar, to waiting until we were all home to put the angel atop the tree, to planning an elaborate Christmas Eve feast, our family was swimming in daily Christmas traditions. We could always count on Dad storming in to the house like a puppy dog on his last day of work before the holiday, hollering "WE'RE ON VACATION!" And starting the celebration on December 23rd with a "Merry Christmas Eve-Eve" greeting. And videotaping his now grown children waiting at the bottom of the stairs on Christmas morning to be released into a living room wonderland of festive music and overflowing stockings.

We have managed somehow to keep most of those traditions alive this year. We still baked up a storm of Christmas cookies (actually, mom did). We still posed for a picture when putting the angel on the tree. We'll still have a big Christmas Eve party with an elaborate meal (this year it's cornish game hens atop a Christmas wreath medley of vegetables and wild rice...yum!). My sister and brother and I will still go to the 5:00 service at church tonight.

And yet nothing feels the same as it has for the previous 26 years. The man who created most of these moments isn't here. And that seems to make all the difference...