Babalu Blog: On Traditions

November 21, 2003

On Traditions

Thanksgiving when I was young was different. I struggle with that fact every year around this time when I start to make the phone calls to aunt and uncles and cousins. And every year the task becomes even more difficult.

Back when my grandparents were still alive, every Thanksgiving, every holiday, was a cause for the whole family to unite. And by whole family I mean everyone. My grandfather was one of 16 and he and my grandmother had seven daughters. Now, not all of my Abuelo's siblings were here to join us, but some did, along with their sons and daughters. And while not all of my aunts were here to join us either- Tia Amanda, the youngest had died in Cuba at the age of seventeen and another aunt lived in Jersey - it was always a day where those that could would get together and take part in this new tradition, this American tradition, and give thanks for everything in our lives.

Of course, my grandparents loved this. They loved the fact that they had raised such a beautiful and united family. They revelled in it. Abuelo was always beaming with pride around his daughters and his sons-in-law. And we, the grandchildren, having us all together there in a group, pleased him to no end. Everyone tried their best to please Los Primos (the grandparents). We were all, aunts and uncles, moms and dads, on our best behavior.

Every year Thanksgiving was held at one of my aunts house (our house was always reserved for Noche Buena, the traditional Cuban Christmas eve celebration). The gathering always started early even though dinner would not be served until my grandfather was hungry. My Tia Lulu would cook the turkey and each aunt would bring a different dish. Yuca, congris, ensalada de pollo. They each had their specialty. Every once in a while one would try to "Americanize" the dinner fare, but, my grandfather wouldn't hear of it. Not that he wasn't receptive to it, but just because he liked his Cuban food.

The men all had their highballs before dinner. We would watch this sport called Football on TV, talk about work or politics or "did you hear who just came from Cuba?" They would tallk about their courting days. Imagine six men courting six sisters all at the same time. The stories were wonderful. Beautiful glimpses of a simpler life where everything seemed to be a bit slower, where everyone had time to appreciate the moments they were living. I would hear these recollections and try to picture them in my mind, their homes, the town, the long table at my grandparents house on weekends where everyone from their town came by and sat for a formal dinner, and it all seemed foreign to me. So intangible. As if I knew that I would never see that town or see my parents house or sit at my grandparents long formal table.

At some point before dinner, my grandmother would ask for some music. Musica cubana, from the old days. And while my grandmother could not dance - she had phlebitis on one leg most of her life - she would enjoy watching my grandfather dance with each of his daughters. Un paso doble, a slow tempo'd cuban dance. I can still picture my grandfather dancing with my tias, his chest out, back straight, hands in perfect position to lead, feet moving in perfect unison. Nothing but pride on his face.

When Abuelo said it was time for dinner, we would divide the sit downs in tandas, groupings, as there were always to many of us to sit at the table at the same time. Once the table was set with all of those delicious dishes and the primera tanda had all sat down, the rest of us waiting for the second tanda would gather around the table and Abuelo would give thanks.

Here was the beauty of it. With all of the day's reminiscing about Cuba, with all of the talk of where they had lived and how they had courted and married and how they left the country where they were all born, and with this unspoken understanding that their culture had forever been changed, my grandfather always thanked God for being here. For having kept his family together and for having been able to bring a little bit of Cuba with him to this country that had accepted him and his family with open arms.

And here is where my yearly Thanksgiving struggle stems from. Since my grandparent's passing over a decade ago, our Thanksgiving traditions have been diluted. The attendance began getting smaller and smaller, year after year. Now, each Tia has her own family to unite with. My cousins have grown, married, and had children of their own and now have new responsibilities. I make all the calls, ask the "what are you doing for thanksgivings questions," tell them they are all welcome to come to my house and I try to get everyone to gather in one place, like we used to, but I know that's not possible anymore. Yet, regardless of the fact that we are not all gathered together in one place, I know my grandparents still give thanks that we are here and that we are family.

Posted by Val Prieto at November 21, 2003 10:07 AM

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Comments

Val: so beautiful. it makes me feel like I was actually there. what a gift: to be part of such a family.

Posted by: red at November 21, 2003 10:58 AM

Yep, my family is scattered all around and hard to get together with as well. --s

Posted by: Scott Barnard at November 21, 2003 11:02 AM

Though I was very small when this occurred, I remember everything that you are recounting. Even if we can't all get together, I am very grateful for those years, and for the new traditions we have. And I know that every single year, no matter how big or small the attendance, el primo y la prima are always there.

Posted by: Amanda at November 21, 2003 11:58 AM

Great story Val. Reminds me of the big family gatherings that dominate my childhood memories. Makes me wonder how we'll keep everyone together. We're running out of room. 13 siblings, 6 sisters-in-law, 1 brother-in-law, 22 grandchildren and two on the way. (Half of us have not even begun to have children). I know we'll eventually start accepting the fact that we can't all be together at the same time on holidays, but I think my mother will have a tough time accepting that.

Posted by: Patrick at November 21, 2003 12:27 PM

i've been trying very hard not to worry about thanksgiving. but now you made me miss it! this is my first thanksgiving away from all my family. sure, i've family in bolivia, but thanksgiving's not a holiday here. oh, well.

Posted by: miguel at November 21, 2003 06:55 PM

Val,

Right now, while you still remember them, start writing down the stories that you heard around the holiday table. Ask your aunts and cousins to do the same.

At the same time, find out who in your family is recording the genealogy. This needs to be recorded while as many as possible of the Old Ones are still available to tell what they know.

But a family's heritage is more than just the facts of dates and places, it has to include the personal stories and rememberances.

Your younger cousins may not realize yet what they are losing and won't think until too late to ask "does anybody remember?"

Posted by: homebru at November 22, 2003 10:14 AM

Your story brough tears to my eyes as my Cuban-American family is all over the United States and Spain. However, we try to be a family, no matter what. I am in love with my Cuban roots.

Posted by: Mildred Perdomo at November 23, 2003 05:12 PM