When my parents died, my three brothers and my sister and I lost our main point of connection with each other. We spread out over the globe. Our life stories headed in different directions, and we lost contact.
Years later, we all started making contact with each other again. It had been as long as sixteen years since some of my siblings had contacted each other. We had huge gaps in our knowledge of each other, yet there was an instant connection when we met up after years of separation. We shared so many things in common. We shared the same torpedo shaped “Cowan little-toe”, our father’s hay-fever and other genetic impediments, and a love of stories and humour that we got from both parents.
But it is more than that. We also shared a common heritage of family traditions. Our family did things in a certain way. We have common memories of Christmas dinners when Uncle Doug would say grace in a low rumble that sounded like a freight-train passing (I think even God had difficulty hearing what he was saying), of mussel picnics at Bethells Beach, of the ritual of polishing the silver before certain events, of RSA picnics and lots more. Many of the memories involved food, celebration, jokes and laughter. It’s also nice to see that some of the traditions aren’t just remembered, they are also replicated: in all my siblings’ families there are traditions of informality, hospitality and generosity that would make my late parents proud.
I had no choice about passing on the Cowan Little Toe and hay fever to my kids (you could say noses run our family) but, unlike my biological genes, I have had the opportunity to create and edit my ‘family DNA’ and pass it on in habits and traditions. Have I been successful? Ask me when I’m dead.
With Christmas coming up, could I urge you to think about the way you do things. Create your own family culture. They might forget the gifts, but you want them to remember the way you celebrated Christmas, all their life.