Hilary Moon Murphy

Fleeting Traditions

It's the night before Christmas, which means that it is time for the annual Christmas Eve dinner with Andy's Grandpa and Grandma Schweim. Twenty-seven family members cram into a tiny one floor bungalow each year for the event. Other than weddings and funerals, this is the only time we can all count on seeing each other.

The menu never changes -- oyster stew, sloppy joes and too many cookies. Equally unchanging are the evening's activities: wrestling small children on the floor, news from far-flung family members and the gift exchange. Grandma and Grandpa get large group presents that are discussed and argued over by their children for months beforehand. In return, they give us envelopes with crisp new bills that we can use to buy our own presents, unless you're new to the family. Newcomers get one of Grandma Schweim's homemade afghans in the colors of their choice. It's tradition.

Perhaps I'm missing the most important tradition of all -- round after round of the most murderous game of Uno that I have ever seen. The Uno game has been going for over thirty years, and there are long-standing vendettas of at least that vintage. When the game begins, people vie with each other to get spots next to the foe of their choice.

Siblings will work together to bury their parents in Uno cards. Grandparents plot against their Grandchildren. And Aunt Janice and Uncle Herb are fair game for everyone.

For the children in the family, Uno is the biggest rite of passage of them all. Preschoolers start by holding cards for older players. Each year, they beg for the chance to play on their own. By the time they graduate to being their own players, they can name all the vendettas and quote moments from Uno games past as well as the adults.

No one remembers who won from year to year, but everyone remembers when Uncle Herb stuck Aunt Janice with five "Draw Four" cards in a row and she finished the round with 728 points. It's that kind of game.

Why have I spent so much time chronicling one family tradition? Because it has become a milepost for me, one that I look forward to each year. Each time I go to these dinners, I wonder if this one will be the last of its kind. Grandma and Grandpa Schweim are getting up in years. What happens if one of them dies, or if age forces them out of their little bungalow? Will anyone else keep this tradition alive?

I sure hope so. In this era of nuclear families, it's refreshing to have once a year when four generations can get together, laugh and pile each other up in Uno cards. It's the traditions, no matter how corny they may seem to outsiders, that keep families from drifting apart.

Hmm