I believe in tradition. When I was younger, it was tradition to go to my Grandparents’ house every Saturday night to eat dinner and play a few games of Canasta. It was always my grandma and I versus my grandpa and my mom. My grandpa was stubborn as hell, and would refuse to play with anyone but my mom. I got mad, too, because my grandpa smoked like a chimney and I couldn’t stand the smell. The teams were pretty even in skill and the game was always up for grabs. If my grandma and I made a good move, he would cuss and complain and lay his head on the table, mumbling his trademark jibberish. He always came back and pulled a fast one on us, though, and his mood would change immediately.
As I grew older, I became more social and started skipping this tradition to hang out with friends. Occasionally, I would go down and play cards, but not nearly as often and I used to. In the past couple years, I pretty much stopped. I’ve been so busy with school and friends and a boyfriend, that this tradition was no longer my first priority for how to spend my Saturday night.
My grandpa passed away about a month and a half ago. Recently, I’ve taken up this tradition once again, just now it’s usually with my great aunt, my grandma, and my boyfriend. I know I will never play canasta with my grandpa again, at least not on Earth, but at least I’ve spread a small part of the tradition to my great aunt and boyfriend. It is important to keep traditions intact, because once you break them, it’s hard to get back what you had, and you may never get it back at all. I believe in tradition. It’s what my family is made up of.
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