Carrying on the Tradition

This is my dad holding Conner. I'm pretty sure that this was the visit when Conner was 9 months old, which means this is in 1998. Who would have thought that my dad would only live another 8 more years. I wish I would have done things differently. I know without a doubt that I would have spent as much time with him as possible. Making efforts to visit more often, calling more on the phone or even sending notes through the mail. Just making sure that my dad knew how much I loved him and how much I appreciated all that he had done for me. I'm sure he knew, but lets face it, we all want to hear verbally how much we are loved & appreciated. Dads are no different!

My question that I always seem to wonder, when reflecting on my own parenting of my boys is, will they have things that spark fond memories? What traditions will I be passing along to them that they will want to carry on to their own children. One can only wonder. I truly wish that my dad could have known, while he was holding his first grandchild that his simple love of making fudge at Christmas would be carried on. When I was a child, I loved helping my dad make his traditional fudge. It was always a big deal. Dad would send mom to the grocery store with a list of ingredients needed for the fudge making event. Then after picking out an evening to make it, he'd line the ingredients on the counter. Always a measuring cup full of chocolate chips, a jar of peanut butter and marshmellow fluff soaking in a hot bath in the sink and the big pot...oh yes, it had to be big for all that stuff that went in it. Sugar, and vanilla, chocolate chips and butter, milk and fluff to name a few. Of course you couldn't just add this stuff in any old way. There was law and order. A time for each ingredient to be placed in that big pot. Dad knew it all off the top of his head. Receipe tucked away so no one could duplicate it. The grand finale was the best. Why? Well, it was because that was when dad needed my help. This was when I could feel like I could contribute to this special event. It was at the end when I got to help pour in the stuff in the boiling pot and I had to do it quickly. "No dilly dalling around," was what dad would say. "Make sure you get it in quick so I can get it stirred fast" Then we would make the voyage over to the kitchen table to pour the goodness into the awaiting trays. I had to quickly switch trays when it was time, trying not to move it away to quickly or to late. Getting the right amount in each tray. It was when the fudge was settling nicely into its new home did we all get to revel in diving that big tablespoon into the pot to scrape up the leftovers. Getting a sneak taste of what awaits us once the fudge sets up and cools. It was a treat to scrap that pot and did I enjoy it, oh yes, indeed!

Who would have thought that a simple little Christmas tradition has carried through to my own children. Recently, I bought a new stove. One would probably say, "What's the big deal, what does this have to do with this story?" Well, it wasn't until I got this stove was I able to make this fudge that my dad so graciously gave me the receipe to. I wonder , do you think that when he did that, he had some hope that I'd carry on making this fudge? I'm going to smile and say yes! Well, with this new stove I was able to cook at a hotter temperature that my old stove did not afford me. Tickled is probably a good label I'd give myself when I discovered this and soon made plans for my own fudge making day.


















This was no different then what I remembered as a kid. It was neat how all of the steps and methods came back to me with ease. When Conner was helping me set out the ingredients and I told him to put the peanut butter and fluff in a hot water bath, he looked at me strange. It was then I said to him "just wait till we need it, then you will know exactly why it goes in the hot bath". Sure enough, when he was hurrying up to dump the ingredients in at the precise time I told him, he knew. He knew that it was a time saving secret. My dad's secret (which I'm sure took him a while to figure out after some trial and errors) was used during my time with my own child. It was then I realized that my dad was with me. Not in the physical sense, but in a spiritual sense that his memory was brought to life.





I can say without a hesitation that I just loved making this fudge with my son and I can only hope that there will be something that takes root in his life that he'll want to carry on as a tradition with his own children. It's these moments that get carried on that memories are not only recalled and cherished, but are created and carried on for the future generations to come. Traditions are a small part of the bigger picture here. That when we look back on them we can smile and know that there was someone that loved us enough to give a piece of themselves to you. Its what I call love.

I love you dad and I am so grateful for the time you invested in me and the love you shared with me. For my children I love, I pray that you know and feel loved everyday of your life.