When we were kids, Traditions were sacrosanct. As far as our parents were concerned, certain occasions dictated specific actions and those actions would fail to take place only if the Hindenburg landed on your house. Dinner was at 5 p.m. sharp. You got fish on Friday. The Christmas candles went in the windows December 1, not a day sooner or later. When you went to the beach, hungry or not, you visited Tripoli’s Pizza. Each Spring, you visited the relatives in Gloucester, where you would be fed spaghetti and meatballs. You were required to come in at night when the streetlights came on.
Between Christmas and New Year’s, your parents would pack you in the car and travel around town to visit friends. Another night, those same friends would visit you. Alcohol would appear in abundance at all occasions. The Celtics game would always be on the radio in the background.
On Thanksgiving morning at 10 o’clock, the Lawrence vs. Lowell high school football game would be held, alternately in Lowell and at the Lawrence Memorial Stadium just a half-mile down the road. Everybody in town would go even though Lowell won every year. For this game only, the city festooned the bench areas with a plethora of straw for some reason nobody ever explained, but it looked nice. When the game was over, everyone marched home to Thanksgiving dinner at one o’clock. Dinner unfailingly consisted of turkey, cranberry sauce, stuffing, mashed potatoes, green beans, hot rolls, mince and pumpkin pies. Visitors would show up with side dishes like boiled onions, broccoli, maybe a souffle. There were no yams. People in New England didn’t eat yams. Maybe it’s different today. After dinner, all the men fell asleep while the women cleaned up. Some traditions never change.
In February, when pitchers and catchers reported for Spring Training down in sunny Florida, some fool (usually me) would get up a winter baseball game at the B&M field. First, of course, we would have to shovel off the basepaths, the pitcher’s mound and the batter’s boxes. Then, we would play until the cover fell off the ball, which didn’t take long. This experience was like Groundhog Day to us kids. The ruination of the baseball signified six more weeks of Winter (at least) and we ceased the baseball foolishness until April.
On the first warm weekend of Spring, everybody would pile in the car and we’d go to Salisbury Beach, a mere 26 miles distant. Once there, we’d park as close to the ocean as we could get and look out at the water. Nobody would go in because even the dumbest kid knew the ocean temperature was forty degrees and you would die if you did. This supposed fact was belied by the L. Street Brownies in Boston, who had a tradition of their own. Every New Year’s Day, beginning in 1904, the whole club stomped on down to Boston Harbor and plunged in and hardly anybody ever died. None of us expressed any desire to join.
In May, our Catholic parish, St. Patrick’s, had an annual May Procession. It was dedicated to the Blessed Virgin Mary, who was hot stuff in those days. All the young grade school kids would get dressed up in appropriately virginal white duds and go parading down the street from the grammar school to the church. In first grade, we got to wear capes! White ones, with red fringe. Someone had to sew the fringe to the capes, 36 of them. The nuns asked for volunteers. I volunteered my mother, thinking she would be elated to be chosen for this great honor. I was very very very wrong. She did it anyway, but it did not develop into a tradition. For a short time, I was a hit with the nuns.
The name of the game for our parents was Stability. They grew up in the Depression, when jobs were scarce and nothing was promised. As if that weren’t enough, they had to plod through the second World War, where things looked dicey for awhile. No guarantees. So pardon them if they took a conservative approach to life, happy with a solid job and a weekly paycheck. Stability, the father of Tradition. “Well, we did this LAST year and it worked out pretty good so we’re doing it THIS year, too.” The sports teams of the day wore the same iconic uniforms, now etched into the consciousness of all, for decades. Fire trucks were RED, goddammit! If you argued with a teacher or a cop, you got your ass kicked, and not by the teacher or the cop. Fathers were not questioned, they had belts. In 2014, a top-tier running back named Adrian Peterson was suspended by the National Football League for spanking his kid with a tree switch. He would have been small potatoes in our neighborhood. We had rules! They worked pretty good, seems to me.
L. Street Brownies Prepare For Their Polar Plunge
If This Is Cedar Key, It Must Be February
We don’t have as many traditions these days, but Siobhan and I still have a few. A prized example is Valentine’s Day dinner at the Island Hotel in Cedar Key, a colorful little village on the Gulf of Mexico barely an hour away. We bring an iced bottle of pink champagne and two glasses with which to celebrate the moment at sunset. A wandering couple is solicited to perform photography duties. Last year, Siobhan wore a scandalous purple dress. We published a photo in The Flying Pie and people got excited. Remembering she almost froze, this year she wore pants and an overcoat, not nearly as much fun for the rest of us but better for Siobhan. Dinner was lovely. Where else can you get artificial rose petals on your table?
You probably don’t know this but sometimes traditions can be dangerous. This year, I decided to ask Siobhan to finally marry me. It’s been twenty-nine years and she seemed to be working out. She looked at me for a moment, barely comprehending. Then, in her typical Siobhan-like manner, she said “Sure.” There will be a very small ceremony somewhere in the depths of Las Vegas in the Summer of 2016. Two days later, we’re riding mules to the Phantom Ranch at the bottom of the Grand Canyon. I’m hoping this descent to the bottom of a deep hole in the ground is not symbolic. Giddyap!
Traditions Abroad
In the U.S., many of our revered traditions could be considered a little stale, perhaps outdated. Is it necessary to play the National Anthem before every sporting event? Since Navy has beaten Army’s football team thirteen times in a row, do we have to actually play the game? Should we try electing a high-school dropout President? It might be Time For A Change, or two.
In other countries, they have more interesting traditions. Take, for instance, Brazil, where the Satere-Mawe tribe celebrates the arrival of male puberty by giving the lucky fellow a pair of gloves to put on for eleven hours. Okay, a silly but minor inconvenience, you might scoff. Not exactly. The gloves, you see, are filled to the brim with bullet ants, or paraponera. There is actually a value chart called the Schmidt Sting Pain Index and the SSPI for Bullet Ants is a lofty ONE, the highest rating possible, perhaps because the ants derive their name from the belief their stings can be compared to being shot by bullets. After eleven hours of this jolly amusement, the candidate is considered a Man. Who says girls get all the crappy jobs?
Oh, and before we leave Brazil, let’s not forget those merry men of mirth in the Yanomami tribe (which also exists in Venezuela). These folks cremate the bodies of their dead and the ashes—which include crushed bones—are given to the family to be eaten. “Anything left in the fridge, Arturo?” “Well, we’ve still got a couple of cheese balls and Uncle Fester’s ears.”
As we all know, funerals in Indonesia can be ridiculously pricey. The ceremonies are very intricate and the coffins….well, you’d have to trade your llama to afford one. In Torajah, the afterlife is a very big deal and, expensive interments or not, they can’t just have you leaving Aunt Martha’s corpse on the front porch swing. SO—they have a Plan. Over here, we’d call it Rent-A-Coffin. You merely reserve a temporary box until things pick up and you can move the old girl to a permanent spot. This may be where the expression “raising the dead” originated. Probably not.
In Guam, you can get a full-time job deflowering young virgins. No kidding. It is against Guam law for virgins to marry and those potential brides begin piling up after awhile. So every night, after five, a little white truck with a bell comes rolling through the neighborhoods and it’s not the Popsicle Man. Or maybe it is!
In the Czech Republic, single women go out on Christmas Eve and toss shoes….and why doesn’t this happen everywhere? With their backs to a door, they throw one of their shoes over a shoulder. If the shoe lands with the toe facing the door, it means the woman should start making wedding plans. If the shoe has the nerve to land with the heel facing the door, she must move to Guam and visit the Popsicle man.
We’re not done with these wacky Czechs yet. Also during Christmas, little boats are made from empty walnut shells and each family member places a burning candle into a shell. All the shells are then floated on a bowl of water. If the shell makes it across the bowl, its owner will supposedly lead a long and healthy life. If a shell sinks, bad luck is forthcoming to the shell owner. If the shell just sits there and does nothing, the owner is required to move to Guam and ride shotgun on the Popsicle Truck.
In India, a jug and the palm of one’s left hand take the place of toilet paper. Meanwhile, in Indonesia, a person might grow a long fingernail on the left hand for the same purpose. This could be the reason bowing is a customary greeting in Asian countries instead of the handshake. And also why “Lefty” never caught on as a popular nickname.
In Zambia, tourists are not allowed to take pictures of the Pygmies. Perfectly understandable.
It is against the law to stare at the Mayor of Paris. It’s beyond rude.
In parts of Malaya, the women keep harems of men. You never know when you’ll need an extra.
Donald Duck Comics are banned from some libraries in Finland because Donald doesn’t wear pants.
The Matami Tribe of West Africa play a version of football which uses a human skull instead of the regular equipment. This has several advantages, including easy availability and no quibbling about “deflation.”
Road To The Derby
Horse Racing Nation’s Top Ten for the 2015 Kentucky Derby as of this week, with trainer:
1. Upstart (Violette)
2. Texas Red (Desormeaux)
3. Dortmund (Baffert)
4. American Pharoah (Baffert)
5. Far From Over (Pletcher)
6. Academy Bay (Asmussen)
7. El Kabeir (Terranova)
8. Ocean Knight (McLaughlin)
9. Carpe Diem (Pletcher)
10. Far Right (Moquett)
That’s all, folks….
