Traditions are customs passed from one generation to the next. On special occasions, whether birthdays or events such as Christmas or Hanukkah, traditions guide the celebrations within families. Each family may add its own new ideas, but most families will also use those of their parents and grandparents. Food is a good example. Recipes are handed down through families. What are favorite treats in your family at this time of year?
As generations pass, those new ideas become traditions themselves. Some older traditions are changed or lost. Technology matters too. Few people today put real candles on a Christmas tree, yet that was the tradition before strings of electric lights were available. The desire for beautiful lights stayed the same. The method changed.
What else might change in the future? What might stay the same? I wondered about this myself, so I wrote about a celebration in a story that takes place thousands of years into the future, Beholder's Eye. In it are many of the things I love about our traditions.
Excerpt from Beholder's Eye © 1998 by Julie E. Czerneda, published by DAW Books, used with permission of the author.
Note: The main character, the alien named Esen, is being taken out for a night of fun by her human friends, Ragem and Tomas.
"Close as we'll get now. Better park it here," Ragem announced some time later. I opened the window on my side, licking up the snow that immediately danced in to land on my face, and looked at our surroundings. It was a parking lot—well, maybe it was supposed to be a parking lot. Right now, I was looking at a dense pack of snow-covered mounds each about the same size and shape as our vehicle. An overhead crisscross of lights struck sparks of red and green from the still-falling snow. Following Ragem's advice, Tomas slid to a stop, managing in the process to completely block the exit of at least three other vehicles.
The heavy snowflakes seemed to take their time choosing a landing place. I watched them dance and slip, admiring their unpredictability. "Oh, hurry up, Es," Ragem and Tomas said at once, hauling me out of the car.
I twitched a snowflake from one ear, then swiveled both to catch the faintest of sounds. Music. Hardly had I identified it before each of my crazed companions took one of my arms and hustled me in the direction of the sound. "Hurry! It's almost midnight!" Tomas said breathlessly, his feet slipping and sliding until I thought I was the only thing holding him up as we half ran down an empty street.
Small tidy shops and homes lined the street, each appearing dark inside, but outside ablaze with lights—all red or green. I would have appreciated at least a second or two to search web-memory about them—something was teasing me about the colors and snow. The Humans didn't give me time to concentrate. The music grew louder as we ran towards its source, swelling into recognizable voices and instruments.
We literally burst out into a broad square. Hundreds of people stood around its edges, each so well-bundled against the cold that species was impossible to determine. I hoped Kearn would take that into account tomorrow. Then I looked at the source of the music and finally understood.
"It's Christmas."
"'Course," Tomas said, leading the way through the crowd around the towering tree ahead. The massed choir changed songs and answering hums throbbed from all sides. "And if you'll move those paws of yours a bit quicker, Puppykins, we won't miss New Year's."
Still linked between them, I could only smile toothily in apology as we nudged, bumped, and basically shoved other spectators out of our way. Fortunately, no one took offense, most calling out a "Merry Christmas, Happy New Year," softly enough not to disturb the carol singing.
Ansky was fond of Christmas, I remembered nostalgically, part of her poetic nature. When not busy on Web business, or studying the Articans, Ansky was a sucker for guided tours. Her last planet-hopping trip had boasted ten consecutive Yuletides.
Although when Christmas fell was a planet matter, and many worlds indulged themselves more than once a planet year, Christmas traditions were amazingly consistent. I was personally convinced this had more to do with traveling salesmen than any Human effort to keep the custom intact. Ansky thought this very cynical of me and insisted I'd appreciate such things better when I was older.
Not inclined to quibble, I howled along with a carol Ansky had learned for me and settled down to enjoy myself.
The Rigellians had sacrificed the traditional evergreen tree, propping the corpse up with plas supports. Not bad, I decided, approving the wide range of edible decorations. Snow frosted the tops of hanging cookies and reflected the surrounding lights. The clock at the top of the tree was star-shaped, and, again traditionally, counted down the minutes to the New Year.
Someone squeezed in between Tomas and I—no mean feat since we were already crushed together. The dwarf, no, child, wiggled ahead purposefully. The crowd around us shook like the surface of a jelly as a veritable army of children pushed through at waist height to cluster at the base of the tree. The adults good-naturedly stepped back to give them room.
"Midnight's coming, Es!" Ragem shouted. I pinned back my ear with a wince, able to hear quite well despite the babble of voices from all sides.
I nodded, watching the clock just like everyone else. The last notes of song hung themselves on silence. Snow whirled above our heads, the tree, the waiting children, and snuck down the neck of my coat again. I shivered with excitement. One minute to go. Some worlds claimed they used Terran-standard clocks, but this minute had to be slower than even that myth demanded.
Ten seconds to midnight. A countdown began, shouted from several hundred throats. ". . . Nine, eight, seven, . . ."
I found myself shouting with all the rest. "Two, one . . ."
The clock exploded right on midnight, showering our upturned faces with multicolored sparks that melted just overhead with a whiff of cinnamon. The tree split into four, curving apart from its crown, majestically arching its branches and their treasures down to the eager hands of the waiting children.
"Happy New Year!" The adults grabbed, hugged, kissed, and generally acted without restraint or manners. I lost track of Ragem and Tomas. No one seemed to mind that I licked instead of kissing back.
Ansky hadn't shared this, or else I hadn't assimilated her memories properly. I felt an intense belonging, a feeling of welcome almost as strong as that within the Web itself. Maybe stronger than my future welcome, I thought glumly. I couldn't stay glum for long. As the crowd quieted, this time with a delightful sense of exhausted release, someone passed me a huge roll of pastry, steaming hot and fragrant. I bit into it, tasting cloves, raisins, and crunchy bits of sugar.
What wonderful people!
Make a list of your favorite holiday traditions. Include everything you like, that you look forward to each year. Now, consider these factors:
After considering these factors, look at your list. Underline those traditions you think might still be around in 100 years. Why did you choose these? How might changing technology affect them? Circle those you think might be around in 500 years. What makes a tradition last this long?
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