Traditions of Christmas

During this time of year, these days are the busiest and most intense for all of us. The first thing I do after settling in at my parents' house is to go with my husband and father to the fair set up exclusively for the festivities. There, we buy the natural pine tree that will be our Christmas tree. At that moment, a certain rivalry ensued between my father and Carlos regarding the freshest, largest, greenest, and ideal pine tree for the living room, replacing the one from last year. Each year, one of them emerges as the winner in this senseless competition, and the score so far stands at: Ramón three, Carlos two. I must admit that the Christmas tree was irrelevant until Juan was born, even for Carlos, but with the arrival of our son, everything had great significance. We want Juan to have many good memories, especially during this time of year. Perhaps that's why Carlos is rushing between the pine trees, trying to tie with my father. I am sitting, waiting for both of them to appear with their ideal trees, as I am the judge who determines which tree will be chosen for the year. We also have a series of typical objects for the Bethlehem scene: garlands, Bethlehem stars, colorful balls, and stockings to decorate the fireplace at my parent's house.



"Ready," says Carlos, proudly holding his pine tree.



"Me too," says my father, walking over, while a vendor brings the tree to Mr. Ramón, who looks at my husband's choice from top to bottom and then looks at me. "So, which tree is the best this year?"



I stand and walk towards the trees. First, I look at Carlos's: it's full but without a clearly defined shape. However, it's lush, with little branches waiting to be adorned with balls, angels, ribbons, and tiny garlands, making it beautiful. Then I go to my father's: it looks like it's made of cotton, so soft, with a well-defined shape. I can imagine the beautiful crystal star at its top, and it has many branches, plus it's enormous and smells wonderful. I smile at both of them; I already have my answer.



"And this year's tree is..." I said, pretending to be surprised. "My father's!"



"That's right!" celebrated my father. He then pats Carlos on the shoulder. "Well, Carlos, it seems like it will take a while for you to become the man of the house and pick a decent tree. Thankfully, I'm here."



"Yeah," Carlos responds, shyly.



"Carlos, when are you going to become the 'man of the house'?" my father asks. "Your wife doesn't even choose your tree. Look at this; the distance is affecting your bond. I think you both need to reconsider your family values. My grandson needs to feel that his father is a strong man. Every day, I feel like you need to make more effort."



"Dad..." I scold, annoyed. There is old Ramón, always willing to interfere in my life and be "gentle" with my husband. "Can we have a holiday season without arguments?"



"I'm not arguing; I'm just giving my opinion," my father claims.



"Then save your opinion for when we ask for it, alright?" I retorted, angry.



"Dália, it's alright," Carlos eases the situation. "Don't worry; next year, I'll be the winner."



"Or Juan," my father adds. "I'm sure he picks trees better than you..."



"Well, shall we go?" Carlos asked, ignoring my father's last comment. "We still have a lot to buy, and we need to get the food for the dinner."



"Yes, I really need to find the perfect turkey," I responded, walking.



After purchasing the pine tree, we also buy mistletoe from the same place. Mistletoe is a plant with oval leaves and smooth edges arranged in pairs along its stem. We always hang it at the entrance of the door, and when two people stand under the mistletoe, they should kiss to celebrate the love and resurrection of Balder, a Norse god. But in reality, nobody in my family worships Balder; we just use the mistletoe to spread and ignite the flame of love among the couples participating in our celebration.



After that, we continued through the fair in search of other decorations. Even though we bought some last year, I always like to have something new. So we go through the place and leave almost at night, tired but happy. As soon as we get home, we start arranging our tree with red and gold decorations. Underneath it, we place the Bethlehem arch, our beautiful porcelain Nativity scene, and of course, our Caganer.



Caganer is a ceramic figure dressed in peasant clothes, smoking a pipe, wearing a hat, squatting with his pants down, and defecating. Its name means "the pooper," and we always put it in a discreet spot in the Nativity scene, even though my parents always turn up their noses at seeing it once again as part of our Christmas. We've put the Caganer in the Nativity scene since Juan was born, and I'm sure this year my son will be able to find the figure because that's the goal. Besides being a figure representing prosperity and bringing luck to those who put it in the Nativity scene and bad luck to those who don't.



I step back to admire the beautiful tree decorations; to me, it gets more beautiful each year. Carlos passes by me with the Bethlehem star made of crystal and climbs the ladder to place it in its rightful spot. I watch my husband there on the tree and feel a tightness in my heart as if it were the last time I'll see him doing that simple gesture. He comes down with a smile and stops by my side, looking at the beautiful tree we set up together once again.



"Madre Díos, we're really good at this, partner," exclaims Carlos, hugging me, smelling my hair, and then giving me a quick kiss. "Really good."



"Exceptional," I reinforced, smiling.



"Do you know what would be exceptional?" Carlos asks, adjusting my hair.



"No, and if it's what I'm thinking, I won't do it for you," I replied playfully.



"But I know you like it," Carlos claims, giving a peck on the tip of my nose.



"Sure, but I did it for you last year; now it's your turn," I responded with a hint of mischief.



"But I know you do it so well," Carlos says.



"But you do it just fine by yourself."



"But it would be good for Juan if you did that. Now he understands what this sacrifice will do for him."



"None of that, Carlos Penedo Salazar. It's you who will do it," I say, stepping away from that manipulative man.



"Then let's do it together," suggested Carlos, holding my hand. "What do you think?"



"Okay," I responded. "But it's you who will get the Tió and the things we need."



"Okay," my husband says, giving me a quick kiss before running to where the Tió is.



Before long, there comes Carlos with the last Tió de Nadal before Noche Buena that we bought at the fair. Tió is a log with a painted face and two front legs, which "poops" – in our case, it's filled with sweets that we give to Juan. Usually, some families give small gifts instead. Tió de Nadal "appears" at our house on December 8th, during the Feast of the Immaculate Conception, about the size of a small twig, and we let Juan take care of it like a pet until Christmas. We teach our son to feed it and keep the log warm with a red blanket. As the days go by, we replace the logs with bigger ones. This one that my husband is holding is the last one we'll arrange for the big day. We decided to open it and put the sweets inside so that when Juan hits Tió, the present would literally come out. We tested Tió a few times, and then we smiled at each other. Part of the decoration is now complete.