I have a lot of family traditions. When I stop and think about them, most are tied to holidays—and more specifically, to food, faith, and the people who gather around the table.
Certain dishes still anchor Thanksgiving and Christmas for me, especially the ones that came straight from my mom’s kitchen. Those recipes aren’t just instructions; they’re memory triggers. One bite can bring back entire rooms, conversations, and people who are no longer there but never really gone. Alongside those is the jambalaya inspired by my dad—a dish that carries his influence, his tastes, and his quiet presence into my own kitchen.
Some traditions are simpler but no less meaningful. Reading The Night Before Christmas is one of them. I don’t have small children anymore, but the ritual still matters. It connects me to earlier seasons of life and reminds me that some things are worth holding onto, even when circumstances change. The same is true of going to church on Christmas Eve, then coming home and opening a single present—a small pause of anticipation before the celebration really begins.
Marriage has added new traditions, too. I’ve been folded into Daryl’s family rhythms in ways that feel natural and grounding. Christmas Eve and Christmas Day at her brother’s house. Thanksgiving at her sister’s. And every summer, a weeklong vacation that brings both of our families together—a shared stretch of time that strengthens bonds simply by being unhurried.
Other traditions aren’t tied to dates on a calendar. When Lizzi visits, we almost always make a trip to the Columbia Restaurant in St. Augustine. It’s become our place—a marker that says, you’re here, and this time matters. As for Sully, we’re still at the beginning. We don’t have established traditions yet, but I’m looking forward to watching those take shape in the years ahead, knowing how meaningful the small, repeated things can become.
What I’ve come to realize is that traditions don’t need to be elaborate to be lasting. Most of mine grew quietly, one repetition at a time. They endure because they’re rooted in presence—showing up, gathering, remembering, and making room for what comes next.
Copyright © 2026 by Doug DeBolt.
