bout de papier, Vol. 4, No. 4 (1986) — Winter 1986 // Hiver 1986, p. 8
L east Thursday was October 9, a normal, breezy Canadian fall day. The kind of day that demands decisions regarding jackets and gloves — to wear or not to wear; to wear now and carry later.
The threads of three special celebrations crossed on that particular day and, in doing so, treated me to one of life’s brief moments of confirmation that, for once, I had done something right.
My older son was visiting us for the Thanksgiving holiday. He was indulging mother by driving me around to do some errands and, not coincidently, building up “on” so he could ask for the car that evening. Three minor, everyday activities occurred in sequence.
First, the combination of easy parking, money in my pocket and sunshine to highlight the golden pumpkins lured me into shopping at a market stall to buy our Hallowe’en jack-o-lanterns early. I still bought two, one for each son, even though only one would be at home this year.
“Can I carve mine before I go back to Kingston?” asked my son.
“Sure. No problem”, I said, surprised but pleased.
Second, we stopped at the supermarket to be sure of having on hand the essential ingredients for Thanksgiving dinner. I didn’t need a list because the menu has not varied in nearly two decades. I’ve been known to ship cranberry sauce, wild rice and yams half way around the world. I have even spent a week’s grocery money to give a turkey a four-continent tour before it graced our Thanksgiving table.
Third, as we nipped into the Bay for a birthday present for my sister, I was disconcerted to walk into an absurdly early Christmas display – decorated trees, twinkling lights, baskets of ornaments, gift wrap and ribbon. When I stopped to consider one of the plastic trees, my son pulled me away.
“Don’t ever buy one of those. A Christmas tree should be real. I’d rather have no tree than one of those”, he commented.
With those words I realized that one of my child-rearing goals had been reached.
Early in our first posting someone sent me a Canadian magazine which included an article by Pierre Berton. In this article he extolled the value of rites and rituals in building and strengthening a family’s sense of itself. He maintained that, even when separated physically from the family home, by carrying out these traditions one could experience the warmth and feeling of belonging that occurs on close family occasions.
I must have been feeling that New Delhi was very far from home. Usually, Mr. Berton and I do not reach a state of sympatico very quickly, but this time his words struck a receptive chord
There was not much chance of us ever living very close to relatives, or spending much of our children’s growing years in Canada. I had been mildly concerned about them reaching adulthood and not feeling that they belonged anywhere. They were just babies yet, so I had done no more than decide it was a decision I could put off. His words coalesced these vague thoughts into worries; however, they also had given me a course of action.
Very deliberately I compiled lists of Canadian holidays and how they were celebrated — Easter, July 1, Hallowe’en, birthdays, Christmas, Sunday dinner, vacations, etc. Some customs were special to our respective families and some were more generalized Canadian traditions. The resulting mix that evolved is an amalgam not. entirely Canadian, but they are most specially ours.
For example, on Hallowe’en we always had two pumpkins (of some kind) and each child always carved out their own design; and we always had a real Christmas tree whether it was spruce, cedar, pine or banana. We also have a tattered old tablecloth called the “birthday cloth” and always watch family slides on Christmas Eve after the tree is lit, but these latter are not part of this story.
Now that the children are leaving home and it is becoming harder and harder to find time for family activities, I had thought of abandoning some of these expensive and time-consuming celebrations. In nearly 20 years there had not been a hint that anything I had so conscientiously planned was making any difference – until last Thursday.
Perhaps it is not until they leave home that these family traditions become important. Perhaps when they establish their own families some of the pride and love I tried to express through these special times will be passed along to another generation.
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Originally published in bout de papier, Vol. 4, No. 4 (1986) — Winter 1986 // Hiver 1986, p. 8. Read the rest of this issue →
