Growing up, we weren't Christian, but Christmas was an enormous celebration for us. Santa, family, food, love, gifts. Cleaning up and spending all day in the kitchen cooking. I come from an arid climate, and I was usually the only child around for miles and miles, so as a kid I'd be sent outside, lonely, running around in the sun, or climbing rocks to my secret places with my new She Ra or Rainbow Brite doll, while the boring adults drank Kahlua and talked about the news. Later we'd all eat at grandma's big table.
My paternal grandparents were Christian and they would pray before the meal. They tried to tell me about baby Jesus and the nativity story, but I didn't understand. I knew very little of their faith until I was in my thirties.
Nowadays, as a mother, I raised my daughter on gingerbread houses, advent calendars, Santa Claus, going to church, being surrounded with family, sharing gifts, sharing really good food, reminiscing, the ultimate I love you.
Going out to see Christmas lights in candy cane lane type neighborhoods. Watching the old movies. Singing Christmas carols, and listening to Christmas music on the radio.
There were often explosive arguments when my dad was around and my brother was out. I learned to stay out of it. But that's part of the tradition too. Part of the ultimate I love you is that relatives can get into enormous fights, but they still love each other, and they still want to be around each other. The fight is kind of a dysfunctional way of saying "I care about your wellbeing and the way you carry yourself. I care about your character and lifestyle."
Another important tradition for my household is Chanukkah. 8 wonderful nights of fun. Candy, donuts, hash browns, games, retelling of old stories, dancing and rejoicing with our faith community. For eight nights of wonder and love.
