Nostalgia.
I always associated that word with the ladies on the show The Golden Girls. And for some reason, for me, it was always more of a verb than a noun. Like, they were always sitting around “doing nostalgia.”
It was never a pastime I saw myself doing. It was just something older ladies liked to do to pass the time and made for really good TV.
But, this past holiday season, I totally did nostalgia.
Just call me Blanche.
I don’t know if this happens to everyone in their mid-30s or if it’s because I now have the little princes; but I felt myself developing this weird ache for traditions from years past paired with a strong desire to replicate them.
The short time I was #1. Christmas in the 80s with mom and dad.
I think Don Draper from the hit series Mad Men (I know, lots of TV references in this post) described the feeling best when he said,
“It’s delicate, but potent. Nostalgia… literally means ‘the pain from an old wound.’ It’s a twinge in your heart far more powerful than memory alone….. It goes backwards, and forwards… it takes us to a place where we ache to go again.”
Ugh, gut punch right?
Gut punch.That’s how I can best describe the feeling. Not quite as eloquent as Draper but, in my defense, he had a 24 hour mini-bar at his disposal.
But with every ornament I unpacked, or Christmas carol I heard, I felt like I was getting punched in the gut. And, instead of trying to fight the assailant or negotiate a deal, I just kept going back for more.
So, I assumed re-creating holiday traditions from my youth would cure me.
Every single year, my dad took us to get our picture on Santa’s lap. It was like this major event that we all looked forward to attending. Time with Dad, some kind of bad-for-you- but-oh-so-good takeout or diner food, and a Polaroid.
The Kelley sibs sometime in the early ’90s.
Once we got older, we carried on the tradition. We pretended like we did it for Dad, but I think secretly it was for us. I even drove home from PA at the crack of dawn late into my 20s, to ensure we got to the mall in time for the shot.
Never too old for Santa. Kelley sibs in the mid 2000s
Once my babies were born, the tradition inevitably died.
So, like any good parent, I forced it on my kids to keep it alive!
This is how that turned out:
Sorry, Franco. Ho, Ho, Ho.
Brooks wouldn’t even get out of the car.
So, alas, I continued to search for other ways to replicate the holiday magic of my childhood for my kids. We made Christmas chains that sort of fell flat, drove around to look at Christmas lights which met some success, and I just couldn’t sell the idea of a real tree on hubby.
On Christmas Eve night, Brooks, Franco, and I started getting the cookies ready for Santa, and carrots for the reindeer (like I did when I was little.) Suddenly, Brooks repeated his strange request from the year before, “Mommy, don’t forget the corn for the reindeer… Uncle Justin said it’s their favorite!”
I realized at that moment we had our own little tradition. Small and silly as a kernel of reindeer corn but it’s just ours. And it’s fabulous.
Brooks with his Christmas Eve spread in 2016. Cookies and milk for Santa, and carrots and corn for the reindeer.
Traditions are wonderful things. They create lasting memories, build excitement, and form lasting bonds. But, they aren’t something that can be forced. Re-enforced, sure. But, not forced.
Sometimes they just need to be recreated—as a new family is created.
Some traditions, though, carry on naturally. Like ones for the Birds.
Super Bowl Sunday.
Show me an adult Eagles fan anywhere who didn’t feel the gut punch of nostalgia on that day.
Luckily, Brooks already bleeds green. “All on his own,” he developed a love for the Philadelphia Eagles. So, when my Uncle Kenny said he was having a Super Bowl party with the entire family I knew we had to make the trip back to Eagles country for the big dance.
The tradition continues. “Tailgating” in Uncle Ken’s backyard before the big game. Ignore the distorted faces…..we had technical issues.
Eagles were a big part of our childhood. My dad and uncles always had season tickets—ever since the days at The Vet—so game day was a big deal.
Seeing Brooks have that same grit and excitement while watching the Birds is the absolute coolest thing in the world. (I’m hoping Franco gets the bird bite too…But, I won’t force it. I promise. Re-enforce, maybe.)
Brooks with his game day face.
Three generations of fans were at that party, celebrating old traditions by screaming the fight song at every touchdown, scarfing my dad’s signature chili, and making new traditions, too.
What I learned throughout all of this is that becoming a “real grown-up” is weird. And a total mixed bag of emotions. There are days you long for the “glory days” and others where you feel you were never meant to be anywhere else.
Fly, Eagles, Fly.
Nostalgia will come in both high and low tides. But, just like we did in the boogie boarding days of our childhood, you have to either ride the wave or duck under water until it passes. There’s no forcing your way into or out of it without a wipe out.
So, I’m trying to enjoy the waves as they come and celebrate that I have such a strong foundation to build on with my guys. Because really, life is too crazy, beautiful, and short to wade in the twisty waves of nostalgia.
Don’t try and replicate the past, use it as inspiration for future greatness: Noted.
Noted. 