The older I become the more I long for family traditions dear to me in my youth.
My favorites were the holiday traditions.
Each special day had a set of customs often captained by Mom and Dad, known to others as Betty and Bill.
Christmases were most special and centered around a birthday cake and hundreds of birds.
For many years Mom baked a special birthday cake to help Jesus celebrate Christmas day.
As I write this, I can almost smell the warm spicy goodness wafting through the house and hear the sounds of Mom creating a cake worthy of a King.
My young mouth watered, as frosting was slathered, and a variety of crunchy goodness sprinkled on the cake.
Soon after a prayer was said, a single slice of the freshly baked cake was carefully removed.
As much as I wanted that first delicious piece, I knew it wasn’t mine.
Mom carefully took that first piece and placed it in the yard. I also seem to remember singing “Happy Birthday” to Jesus.
That was special. But I’ll never forget what happened to each piece of the special cake.
My siblings, sister Belinda, and our baby brother, David, watched through the long bank of west-facing double dining room windows as a lone bird, usually a robin or crow, began a slow peck at the perfectly cut triangle of love.
It didn’t take long to change.
The yard soon filled with a variety of Ohio’s winter birds, each one nibbling at the slice.
The pieces quickly shrunk as pieces were eaten, taken to nests or as we believed, taken to Jesus.
Our family later enjoyed the remaining cake.
I recently asked Mom about the birds. I asked, almost tongue in cheek if the birds ate the cake or took it to Jesus.
Mom was not kidding.
“I wouldn’t be surprised if they did,” she said.
I would love to see Mom do that one more time. It breaks my heart that I probably won’t. It was a gift to see and one I’ll always carry.
Mom continued the traditional cake creation for Jesus for many years, even sharing it with my twin nieces when they were children.
Mom is not sure when or why the tradition started but believes it began when either my sister or I asked her how Jesus was going to get a slice of cake to celebrate His special day.
I wish I could have one more piece of that cake.
I miss that so much.
Dad was not without his own Christmas traditions.
Dad spent Christmas morning in his favorite chair brushing remnants of walnut and Brazil nut shells from his shirt. The cracked delicacies were removed from the solid wooden bowl overflowing with a variety of seasonal nuts.
Dad mixed the gritty flavor of nuts with Mom’s homemade peanut butter fudge carefully removed from colorful round tin canisters.
Dad’s snacks, including holiday cookies and ripe Christmas oranges, were cleansed, and rinsed down with his holiday drink of choice – Mom’s black rich, hot coffee.
Mom and Dad began Christmas mornings like most mornings of their marriage, together with hot coffee.
I found out later why Dad needed coffee even before any gifts were open or candy canes licked.
Pop was exhausted.
Dad had been up all night setting up the tree and presents.
That was another of Dad’s traditions.
We could not always afford real Christmas trees. For years we went to sleep on Christmas Eve with no tree and no presents.
But each Christmas morning we had a fully lit and decorated tree filled with presents.
I later found out that Dad waited until midnight when trees were being thrown away at tree lots and drove around town to find a deal.
Dad never complained.
He loved all the traditions of Christmas. My Dad’s mommy died when he was a baby, and he never had any real toys or Christmas traditions until he married mom.
I love Dad for that.
I miss Dad. His last Christmas was in 2003.
As I’ve written this, I’ve realized that these were not just traditions from my parents. These were gifts of love that will not rust and cannot be stolen.
Like the original Christmas story, our tradition began around a manger.
Now I’m hungry for cake.
Merry Christmas readers. I hope you and yours have a wonderfully safe and prosperous New Year.
