Traditions

With all due respect to my friend Tevye (who was constantly dealing with that pesky fiddler on his roof), not all traditions are deeply ingrained in one's culture. Sometimes they have to be manufactured.

Both Devoted Wife and I grew up in large families with a lot of family traditions. While there are currently just the three of us, we've decided that we wanted some holiday traditions of our own for our growing family. So when I woke Devoted Wife up this morning at 7:00 and announced that it was time for our Annual Family Fourth of July Flag Ceremony (yes, the first annual flag ceremony), I sort of expected her to jump out of bed and grab the camera to memorialize our new tradition for our future posterity.

Instead, she groggily asked, "Can't this wait for half an hour?" When I responded that we were already an hour past reville, she said "You're not the one who had to get up with Kate at 4:00 in the morning." Considering that I hadn't even realized that anyone in the family was up at that time (I certainly wasn't), I decided not to push the issue. I went downstairs and flipped on the t.v. and watched Will Smith kick some alien you-know-what in Independence Day and waited for the rest of the troops to arise.

Around 8:00 Devoted Wife came down the stairs holding a groggy Baby Kate. Kate slept a bit later than usual, probably because we had been out late the night before at the city "3rd of July Extravaganza" in the city park. We'd tagged along with the extended family of our good friends Todd and Laura. It was one of the best small town fireworks displays I've seen -- and thanks to Laura's persistence (she insisted that we get to the very front of the viewing area) we had the best seats in the park. As it grew dark we wondered how Kate would handle her first fireworks show. After a few whimpers when the first bangs sounded, her fascination with the lights overcame her fear of the loud noises and she sat transfixed, staring into the sky. Her face was expressionless for most of the show until, near the end, she started letting out screams of delight. Devoted Wife and I again chalked this up to her easygoing personality; she simply doesn't get too bent out of shape about much. Just wait until she gets older and learns about my rules for her dating.

Anyway, our first annual flag ceremony may not have been quite as spectacular as the fireworks display, but we did have a better soundtrack. As Whitney Houston belted out the Star Spangled Banner we unfolded the flag and attached it to the flagpole. We then marched outside (OK, I didn't actually try to get Devoted Wife to march, but you can bet our kids will march when they're old enough to walk) and placed the flagpole in the bracket. Devoted Wife asked what patriotic song I wanted her to sing (those who have heard her sing can laugh now) and I told her it was her choice. She opted to forego the musical number and we adjourned to the kitchen for our First Annual Post-Flag Ceremony Fourth of July Breakfast.

Just that morning we had decided that a great July 4th breakfast tradition would be to have blueberry pancakes. While running to the grocery store for blueberries (who keeps those on hand?) I made up a short story about George Washington crossing the Delaware in the dark to pick blueberries from the other side of the river, right under the redcoats' noses, so his troops could have blueberry pancakes for breakfast before winning our independence. I'm sure our kids will learn to love that story one day. In order to truly make them red, white and blue pancakes, we decided to add strawberries too. And next year we'll of course add whipped cream, partially because its white and partially because it just plain tastes delicious.

And in the same way all good holiday traditions are born, we sat at breakfast like Madison Avenue ad execs trying to come up with a catchy name for our special pancakes. After all, I reasoned, you needed a catchy name, some tasty food, and a good story (true or not) to make a good tradition. We couldn't decide whether we liked "Patriot Pancakes" or "Firework Flapjacks" . . . maybe we'll let our kids vote one day. Or better yet, we can conduct some market research and let the readers of our blog let us know what name they prefer (come up with your own if you like). Suggestions welcome.

I think we're on to something.