Losing Our Traditions
Sitting around the kitchen table, shucking corn, shelling peas, and telling tales.
Remember when Grandad got the hideous green pain, real cheap, and used it on everything—except it never dried, remaining tacky forever.
When Memaw taught us to make a campfire, because none of the guys could do it.
Remember when Aunt Sissy…when Uncle Roy…when Cousin Pam….
All these memories passed down from one generation to another
as our hands were busy with everyday tasks,
while our hearts shared memories of laughter and embarrassment,
of joy and pain.
The famous “catching up” that built community,
the community of family.
I didn’t know my great-grandfather Gilbert,
a fireman who died in the line of duty,
many years before I was born:
but I know of him.
His bravery,
running into burning buildings,
dragging people out.
His sense of humor,
pulling pranks on my oh-so-serious Gran.
His courage in standing up to his bigoted parents,
to marry the love of his life.
These stories form the connection:
past to present,
and into the future.
They present examples of courage
and wisdom
and humor,
lots and lots of humor.
Learning to laugh at oneself in a circle of support,
surrounded by family who laughed with, not at, someone.
I sometimes wonder if our children are missing out,
not on the physical tasks of corn shucking or pea shelling,
but on the community building that comes from those shared moments of laughter and tears,
the weaving of connections that become the bonds of family,
the stories
and tales
and yarns.
In our efforts to always be doing,
going,
seeing,
we are missing out on the quieter times of being,
listening,
sharing.
Those hours around the table,
on the front porch,
around the campfire,
that gave us insights into who our ancestors were,
and provided hints of who we could be.
The passing on of tradition through the gentle sharing of life.
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