If I close my eyes, I can remember every single detail. The smell of snacks, the sound of laughter, the feel of stockings, the taste of cider, and the exact brightness of the lights illuminating the tree.
I can remember it all.
Memory is a funny thing. I can vividly remember all the details of the Christmas Eve nights of my childhood, and yesterday I went back to my house three different times and STILL forgot my watch. The memory of emotions, of community, far outways the memory of the immediate. The traditions of my family are forever etched in my memory, and those traditions live on through me as I have moved away and am beginning a family of my own (t-minus 71 days until I’m married!).
Our Christmas Eve traditions, and along with them some of my fondest memories, come from that little house on Irene Street that my grandma has lived in since 1964.
Everyone trickles in throughout the morning, bringing their offerings for the snack table. As you pass through the kitchen to get a drink from the outdoor fridge filled to the brim with whatever you could possibly want, you say hello to Aunt Vahnita. This will be her station as new snacks get added to the table every hour: hot wings, meat trays, street taco ingredients, breads, and no event at the Hooker house would be complete without our famous White Elephant dip. I’m getting hungry just thinking about it.
Once all the cousins have arrived, we begin the games. There is no real pattern to this, it happens organically. Scrabble in one room, a Christmas puzzle in another, Apples to Apples in the kitchen so Aunt Vahnita can play along. We spend hours enjoying each others’ laughs, sharing stories from years gone by.
Eventually, the old home movies come out. Videos of trips to Bonneville where my family raced every summer until the early 90s preserved on DVD for years to come. We hit pause every now and then to laugh at a silly face, to rewind and replay, to hear Papper’s voice a few more times.
These are the moments I cherish.
When we were younger, as the sun would set, we would gather around the tree. A different cousin every year was assigned as “Santa” to pass out presents. We would wait until every present was out from under the tree to countdown: 3-2-1-OPEN. Everyone would unwrap, open, say thanks. We would play and laugh some more. Eventually, we would caravan to the church for Christmas Eve Service, ready to sing songs and light candles.
My youngest cousin just turned 27, my eldest 41, so we stopped presents a while ago. It was never really about those gifts anyway. It was always about the traditions, about the food, about the laughs, about the company, about family. While not everyone in my family believes in Jesus, there is still that joy of arrival in our midst. A joy I look forward to all year long.
What about you?
What traditions do you hold close?
Let me know below.
And, MERRY CHRISTMAS.
Jamie Hooker, Global Passion Communications Director
