Here’s my favorite family tradition. What’s yours?
My dad picks one five-minute span of every Christmas season for gift-guessing. He saves it for the moment when most or all the other family gift-givers are present, simply because he knows how much it infuriates us.
Strolling up to the tree, he gives a lift and a few quick shakes to each present that’s for him. Then one by one, he calmly and nonchalantly names exactly what’s inside. Every year, no matter how strange or off-the-wall our gifts have tried to be, after his brief inspection it’s always clear: he knows what’s coming already.
“This is my new shirt.”
“Socks.”
“Golf balls.”
“Golf tees.”
“Duffel bag.”
“Ratchet set.”
Several years ago, my mom decided to get the better of him, so instead of filling out the “To” fields normally on that year’s Christmas gift tags, on every gift under the tree, she normally filled out only the “Froms.” That year, each “To” was in code. So instead of seeing our names on any presents, all we saw was a seemingly random scramble of numbers. If we wanted to know which gifts were ours, she announced—with a spiteful giggle directed toward her hubby in particular—we’d have to crack the code first.
That was what started it all. If you could only see us now.
Every year since, The Code has become more elaborate, more frustrating, more time-consuming. We Velthouse siblings spend hours hunched over our code-cracking sheets of paper. We write down every piece of personal information we can think of: phone numbers, birthdays, cities of residence, addresses. We copy and re-copy what’s written on the gift tags. We trash-talk when we’re stuck. We search under the tree to make sure we haven’t missed a clue.
One Christmas each person’s individual code was his/her birth month number multiplied by shoe size, with age subtracted after that. So I was 9 (September) times 11, minus 19: 80. One year our Social Security Numbers were converted to shapes, one shape for each digit 0-9. The worst was the year that our mom came up with a nonsense “code” on the gift tags, involving hieroglyphic-like symbols borrowed from an old dictionary in the house, while the actual code was that there were different wrapping paper prints for each person. Some of us still haven’t forgiven her for that one.
We have a system and rules for The Code now. It doesn’t get released to any one sibling until it can be released to all. (Giving hometown siblings no advantage.) Cracking the code means telling our mom what the code would be for our dad. (In recent years, they’ve teamed up and are trying as a pair to thwart the rest of us.) New grandkids and in-laws have seen no mercy—they have to fumble in the dark along with everybody else.
First to crack The Code gets his or her choice of a Pounder bag of either Peanut or Plain M&Ms. The rest of the family is to split the consolation prize. If nobody cracks the code, my parents keep the M&Ms for themselves, sharing only if they feel extra generous.
With less than 2 weeks left until another Competitive Velthouse Christmas, it’s almost time for The Code 2011. If I recall correctly, my brother Noah and I are the reigning code-crackers, but this year I’m gearing up to earn the whole bag of plain M&M’s by myself. I’ll let you know how it all pans out.
In the meantime, what’s your favorite Christmas family tradition? Share it!
Previous “Twelve Days of Christmas” Post: Day One: The Weight (and Wait) of Joy
Well, this is not our original tradition but one my step-dad’s family participates in. (Hence, I’ve been grandfathered in). My step-dad has (had – one has passed) five brothers and sisters over 20 years apart in age. With those six siblings came many children and grandchildren. Every year on Christmas Eve morning, the entire family (over 60 people by now) go to downtown Cincinnati to shop and eat lunch together. Every year the lunch is at a different place, and each year, one of the six siblings pays for the entire lunch. Wow! It’s crazy and chaotic and hectic, but it’s a really good time.