My little family doesn’t have much in the way of Christmas traditions. There are a lot of reasons for this, most of them involving the dysfunctional dynamics of my extended family and one too many of what my friend Jack accurately calls “family hostage situations.” Without delving into the gory details, I’ll just say that circumstances prevented my folks and me from developing any annual rituals of our own, and now that I’m grown and haven’t yet produced any children for Mom and Dad to spoil, Christmas tends to be a pretty dull affair for the three of us. In recent years, December 25th has consisted mostly of my nuclear trio shuffling around the house and trying to think of some way to tap into the joyful zeitgeist everyone else seems to enjoy, while grumbling quietly to ourselves that there really isn’t much difference between Christmas and any other day off from work. (Like I said in the previous entry, I’m not very sentimental about this particular holiday.)
Even though I don’t share any particular tradition with my parents, however, there is something I personally do every year. Every Christmas Eve, I make it a point to sit down, have a glass of eggnog and watch a Christmas-themed movie. Sometimes one or both of my folks join in, sometimes Anne is there, but even if I’m the only one in the room, the lights go down and the DVD starts to spin right around the time little children are imagining they hear sleigh bells overhead.
