Sometimes traditions have to die
Through the eyes of a child, there is little more than the experiences before you, the predictability of the expected, and the shock or awe of surprise when it comes to traditions. In my own memories, I focused on how it related to me with a secondhand note of those around me. In turn, I see my own children mostly did the same. With no regard to how the traditions began or why, they just lived them. Some became meaningful, but others were more about going through the motions versus deep awareness of why they were even repeated in the first place. I often wonder if this is something others ponder or the uniqueness of my overanalytical mind trying to put the pieces of a metaphorical puzzle together. Either way, here I am sitting on my couch staring a the evidence of a tradition I just knowingly killed, wondering if it matters to anyone. Christmas surely is a holiday steeped in tradition. People host parties, have gift exchanges, ugly sweater competitions, rob their neighbors, ginger...