It’s a Family Tradition…on September 24, 2012 at 10:01 pm
The much-esteemed label of “Army-Brat” was stamped onto my forehead, some 34 years ago, following my birth in Landstuhl Germany. In the 14 years, following that cold January morning, the military moved our little family of three a total of 7 times. We were never stationed anywhere close to our extended family and chose to cling to what we knew. Each other. You would think that the idea of “traditions” would be something we coveted… a way to retain a connection to something that was once known and familiar. You would think wrong, though.
The traditions that we did abide by seemed simple enough… Chucky Cheese for good report cards, at least 1 fucked up pie during the holidays and a luke-warm orange in the toe of your Christmas stocking. While I may not have known which state or country we would soon be living in… every year I knew I could count on those 3 things to happen. They were my constants.
…and then something happened
Time passed, my parents aged and I became an adult.
…an adult with a small gaggle of children.
…an adult with ADD/OCD/and a shit load of other initials attempting to define me
…an adult that honestly didn’t and couldn’t give a damn about “tradition”
Report cards are rewarded with praise and non-groundings. An occasional monetary offering may come to light (if I happen to find a few stray dollars hiding at the bottom of my purse). For a vast multitude of reasons that are still un-known to me, I couldn’t fuck up a pie if I tried… It’s a blessing and a curse. I could burn the crust and use generic applesauce as the filling…and it would still taste delightful. I don’t question it… I just go with it. If I need a lemon meringue pie…. where the actual meringue is sitting halfway on the table, next to the pie, I will call my mother. Luke warm oranges for Christmas morning…. Yeah, like I could EVER remember to buy oranges when they’re actually NEEDED. ha… ha… HA!
I’ll admit, there are fleeting moments when I feel kind of bad that traditions are not really something we honor in our house… When I see all my friends posting pictures from their yearly journey to the pumpkin patch, it stings a little… that I forgot…. again. But then a vision flutters through my head. A vision of me chucking a dining room chair at a tantrum-ing child who is upset that they failed to get their yearly orange in the toe of their stocking… and I have to smile.
‘Cause that shit SO ain’t gonna happen.