My family has many traditions. I'm talkin' lots. And we're very protective of them, at least us kids are. For example, one year when I was probably about ten my parents announced to us that Thanksgiving would be held at our Grammy's house. For many children, this is the tradition. We on the other hand have always had it at our own house. We may invite people over, but we do not go anywhere else. My older brother had a fit.
"What?! You mean we're going somewhere else for Thanksgiving?!" That set us all off. We made such a ruckus about it that Mum and Dad called up Grammy and told them that we'd have to pass. They were welcome to come to our house, but we would be staying home for Thanksgiving.
All holidays call for such traditions in my family, but none are quite like Christmas. Christmas is a meaningful, wonderful time in my house, but it is also full of pointless traditions that we have always just accepted, until one of us realizes - and points out - just how weird it all is.
Christmas morning. Kaitlyn rolls over to me and asks what time it is. 5:30 is the reply.
"We woke up late!" Yes, usually us kids wake up between 2 and 3 am. We sit in the family room watching movies until 5:30 when we're allowed to bother Mum and Dad. We rush around waking everyone up. When enough kids are awake to make rousing the parents necessary, I venture over the upstairs and down the steps to the master bedroom. Mum drousily tells us to go ahead with the stockings.
While we're sitting in the family room looking through our stockings, Jake pulls out the apple and orange from the toe.
"Ahhh, the apple."
"Jake, we get apples every year," I say.
"Yeah, but do you ever actually eat the apple," he whispers so that Mum wont hear, but she does and we know it.
