On memories, mess, and the traditions we make on purpose
I’ve been thinking a lot about traditions lately.
Not the ones you grow up with. The ones you have to build yourself.
The kind you have to create on purpose. The kind that don’t just happen unless you make them happen.
And that part is exhausting, if I’m being honest. Most days, I come home from work and want to crawl straight into bed. I don’t have extra energy just sitting around waiting to be turned into meaningful moments.
But we try anyway.
That’s why we ran together last year. Partly for the exercise, partly because I had something to prove to myself… but mostly because I wanted something that was ours. Just me and my boys, out in the evenings, moving forward together and getting ready for our yearly Turkey Trot.
That’s why we go to Bingo. We make them go. They complain about it. Some nights, when we aren’t winning fast enough, it ends in frustration or tears. But I still see it. The way they stand up from their seats and spin for luck. The way they immediately try to claim my prizes. My mom’s prizes. By the time we leave, they’re carrying an armful of candy like they earned every piece of it.
That’s why I take them to the movies when something comes out they want to see. We go on Tuesdays because it’s discount night. We sneak in candy and drinks, but we always buy the popcorn. I sit through movies I don’t even like, like the Mario movie, just hoping it becomes something they remember fondly later.
And the funny thing is, the memory they're making and the moment I'm living are seldom the same.
It's me sitting between them so they don't fight. Maybe what they'll remember is that we always sat together.
It's me whisper-yelling at Holden when he gets too loud. Maybe what he'll remember is laughing through the movie.
It's me getting up halfway through to refill the popcorn. Maybe what they'll remember is that we never ran out.
It's chaos in a dark room with a sticky floor.
And somehow, that's the memory we're making.
There are days when it feels more like effort than memory-making. It isn't always what I pictured for our lives.
But years from now, I don't think they'll remember the chaos, the fighting, or even the sticky floors.
I think they'll just remember that we went.
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