A young Mike excited for his new portable dvd player after opening the wrong gift or two.

I have been rattling my brain tonight to try and think up some of my family’s Christmas traditions to talk about. I didn’t come up with much. There are two reasons for this. One: it seems like every Christmas changes in some way, and two: our traditions aren’t the norm.

First off is the tree. When I was young, we had an amazing tree. It was big and beautiful, and made of seven dozen pieces. The whole thing was a production. We’d have to clear the attic door, then my sister and I would stand at the bottom as my Ma shimmied up into the narrow 90-degree angled stairway. My Ma would grab the tree and the boxes of ornaments and lights and drop them down to us. Then came the assembly. Every plastic and metal tree branch had to be put on and bent in a certain way to hold ornaments.

Then there were the ornaments. Glass ones, ceramic ones, plastic ones, store-bought ones, heirloom ones, hand-made ones. All were hung with care, the nice ones in the front, the uglies towards the wall. A wicker angel on top. The lights were strung around, and then inevitably someone had to crawl under the tree to plug them in because no one thought of doing this first, or to not put the tree in front of the outlet. I grant you, it was a beauty, but it was a burden. And one year the tree stayed in the attic, and it remains in the attic.

You see, we decided on a change. A new tree was found. This was half the size and conveniently came in two pieces that snapped together. The ornaments and the lights were still a hassle, but less so.

Then one year, that tree felt like too much. So, I sculpted a tree out of clay. The next year, we got a six-inch tree and put a plastic skull on top. One year, our tree was made out of wire and held pictures. One random year, our tree was an aloe vera plant in an empty aquarium. Another year, our tree was made out of suckers. One year, our tree was a silver pineapple.

This year, our tree is my ma’s potted rose bush she brought inside that looks a little worse by the day. So, one tradition we have is that there is no telling from this year to the next what exactly our Christmas tree is going to look like.

Secondly, are the presents, and I am not talking about specific items or types of gifts we give each other. No, I am talking about the fact that every single year, something will get screwed up. Usually, the source of this yuletide madness is my Ma because no matter how much she tries, she can never keep everything straight.

Ma has tried numbering presents, lettering presents, color coding wrapping paper, and a few other systems, only understood to her at the moment she thought of them. Nothing has ever worked. Inevitably, someone will get the wrong gift or have a gift forgotten, or have a gift given in the wrong order. Ma has embraced the chaos to a point; now every time someone opens a gift, she imitates William Hickey’s character in National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation and says, “What is it?” The truth being, she doesn’t know what’s under the wrapping paper either.

A good example of this is from one Christmas, many years ago, when I was just a boy. It came that part of the day to open the big presents. Ma, with her camera ready to capture the moment, instructed me to open one present before the other. I did as I was told. The tension was palpable.

My heart raced, and I licked my lips in anticipation. I tore and clawed through the wrapping paper like a lion through flesh. Finally, the present was revealed to be a portable DVD player… case.

I was confused. My ma had just given me a case for an item I do not possess. In my stupified state of awe, my ma simply went, “Ah, damn, I got ’em mixed up. Open the other.” I followed instructions once again, this time hesitant, slow, cautious of what I might find.

After all, who knows, this may be a car cover for a vehicle I don’t possess. When I finally opened it, I saw it was a portable DVD player. It made sense. Something like this happens every year.

Our traditions aren’t the norm, nor are they consistent. They are awkward, weird, and ever changing. But that’s how we do things, and I enjoy it. After all, not everyone has opened the wrong present under a decorated, twinkling, chrome pineapple.