Tradition!
In our family, holiday traditions are plentiful, sometimes unusual, and laws from which we may not deviate, except in order to add more holiday traditions. Our children are unforgiving in this regard, ensuring no holiday tradition is ever overlooked or forgotten. For example, every Christmas Eve since even before the kids were born, we’ve always attended a party at our dear friends the Grahams (whom we only see once a year – on Christmas Eve.) We exchange gifts and eat delicious turkey, ham and pumpkin pie. On our way home, we drive through the neighborhoods with our lights off to see all the Christmas lights and luminaries lining the streets. Once home, we gather around the tree and read the Christmas story from Luke 2, and then open one gift selected by mom and dad (well, mostly mom). Finally, all five kids head upstairs to sleep in the same room until Christmas morning. That is the order of events, and as I mentioned, we do not deviate. Tradition.
When Christmas morning arrives, it is tradition that the kids do not come downstairs, nor do they even dare try, until we play the official game of Christmas Morning Mother-May-I.
“Maya, take one step down.”
“Mother may I?”
“Yes, you may.”
Understand that three of our children are 17 and older, but we still play Mother-May-I. It’s tradition, and therefore, around here it is law.
Every Easter the kids look forward to the traditional “Easter Basket Hunt,” which over the years more closely resembles a cross between The DaVinci Code and Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade. In the days leading up to Easter, it’s my task to come up with a series of sequential clues, one leading to another, that eventually brings the children to the Holy Grail, or rather, five Easter baskets meticulously, lovingly, and often quite sweetly filled by Christy. It’s a simple task really. All I have to do is ensure the clues are challenging, they have an overall theme that is somewhat relevant to recent family events (i.e., a trip to New York or Disneyworld, or a favorite TV show or movie), and that I don’t use hiding places I’ve used before. Oh, and one more small minor detail – in addition to being difficult to decipher, the clues also have to rhyme. It’s tradition, and as I said, the children are unforgiving in this matter.
For New Year’s Day every year, we have a fondue dinner that we always look forward to. This allows us to immediately nip in the bud any resolutions on eating healthy. And the kids like it because of the elements of danger: hot oil and the occasional blown fuse. We’ll fondue just about anything. The usual fare is there – shrimp, beef, chicken, broccoli, zucchini, potatoes, onions, etc. Then we get clever with stuffed mushrooms, scallops, cheese sticks and pickles. And for desert, we’ll fry miniature candy bars, and make donuts from canned biscuits – just poke a hole in ‘em! This is accomplished with a little background music – the top 25 songs we’ve listened to on iTunes the past year – which for I don’t know how many years has always included “Hawaiian Roller Coaster Ride” from Lilo and Stitch. Traditions don’t have to make sense. They must, however, be repeated without fail.
But what about New Year’s Eve? That’s always been a hit or miss holiday for us. Because of church callings in past years, we’ve often found one of us chaperoning youth dances on New Year’s Eve, so we never really established a solid New Year’s Eve tradition. This year, however, because there was no dance on New Year’s Eve, and because Abbie was home from college and we wanted to do something memorable, we came up with a new tradition. The first ever New Year’s Eve Martschenko Olympic Games.
Seemed like a good enough idea. Each family member selected a game in which they felt they could beat everyone else. We then made Gold, Silver and Bronze medals out of candy bars and ribbon. Abbie and Maya created a crafty scoreboard to track the winners, and we were ready to “Let The Games Begin!” In theory, it ought to work. What could possibly go wrong?
To answer that question, you must first understand the competitive nature of the members of our family. Let’s review.
There’s me, of course, who believes I am the reigning champion in every game we’ve ever played. As the kids were growing up, I never let them win anything. Some may call it cruel -- some being Christy, but I have always maintained that it built character, taught valuable lessons in learning from one’s mistakes, and developed a competitive spirit and drive to win. Now that they’re good enough to beat me, it creates a quandary. Part of me is proud of them for their achievements, but the other part still hates losing. I enter these Olympics a conflicted soul. The event I selected to add to the Olympic schedule of events was a card game called Bang!
Then there’s Christy, who still roots for NC State after all these years. She’s grown accustomed to losing, so any small victory, even a Bronze medal, would be golden in her eyes. Christy selected Trivial Pursuit, hoping all the questions would be about celebrity marriages and divorces, or NC State basketball coaches who won the National Championship in the early eighties.
The next competitor is Abbie, who despises losing as much as I do. (I taught her well.) She will show no mercy, and when all else fails, she resorts to puppy dog eyes and heartstring pulling. Do not fall for it. She is ruthless and will crush you at the first sign of weakness. Her game was Bananagrams.
On to Alec, who doesn’t care. Deep inside he’s convinced he was adopted and his real family is out there somewhere sitting around playing on their respective iPhones without having to interact with one another. But he plays along, just to prove to other inferior beings that you don’t have to care to win. Alec’s game was Liar’s Dice.
Next is Evan, a self-proclaimed genius and master strategist, quite sure that eleven-year-olds know more than any other age group – at least until next year, when twelve-year-olds will become the dominant species on the planet. Evan selected the parent-friendly Super Smash Brothers, otherwise known as “Watch the Plumber Beat Up the Princess”, a game neither me nor Christy had ever played. Perhaps he is a master strategist after all.
Maya is the youngest competitor in these Olympics. Her strategy is to lay low, and let the others duke it out so she can emerge as the last girl standing. But her real skill is playing the age card, and subtly encouraging opponents to feel guilty for beating her. Do not fall for this, either. If she wins just one gold medal, she will dance a jig in your face with no discernable remorse. Maya’s chosen game was Apples to Apples.
Finally, there’s Allie, a.k.a. The Wildcard. Allie is a friend of Abbie’s visiting for the evening, and her competitive tendencies are completely unknown. We’d have to keep an eye on her. Word on the street was that she should not be underestimated. Her chosen event was the card game Phase 10.
With the competitors lined up, the medals awaiting their winners, and all the games in a hat for random order selection, what could possibly go wrong? It’s just a bunch of games, right?
We drew for the first competition. It would be the shoot ‘em up spaghetti western game of Bang! My event. I smelled Gold.
If you’ve never played the card game Bang!, you must first learn to read and speak Italian words like “Mancato” and “Birra” and then get down to shooting your fellow family members until they are dead on the floor. It’s great family fun. For these Olympics, we had to adjust the rules slightly so that there would be three clear medal winners. To make a long story short, we dropped the roles of Sheriff, Deputy and Outlaw, and everyone was a Renegade! It was every man, woman and child for themselves!
I knew once the cards were dealt, that folks would be gunning for me. After all, my family has been known to eliminate me from play without the courtesy of allowing me a single turn. (They still grin smugly when fondly reminiscing of a certain Risk game at the beach one year. I raised some cold-hearted kids.) I was so concerned, I made a rule that no one could be killed off in the first round, as I wanted to at least get one turn. There was some protest, but since it was my game, I got to pick the rules by which we played, which in itself was a rule I was making up on the fly – one of the fringe benefits of being Dad.
It didn’t matter, though. I lasted a few rounds, but was the first one shot dead in cold blood, and the fingerprints were many. Cold-hearted, indeed. That was okay , though. I knew it wasn’t over. If a certain card came up at the right time, I could get back in the game. It was a long shot, but it was all I had.
The game went on without me. It was a brutal contest that took us all the way through our baked potato dinner. Eventually, one by one, players dropped, until there were only three remaining – Evan, Abbie and Allie, vying for the Gold, Silver and Bronze. Allie had never even played the game, and she was still in it. (I told you she should not be underestimated.) And then, it happened. The “Dead Man” card appeared. In the words of Ak-MOON-rah from Night At The Museum 2, I came “BACK TO LIFE!” Almost immediately, Evan was killed off, and suddenly, to everyone’s chagrin, I was in medal contention. This, of course, caused quite a bit of consternation and confusion, and suddenly everyone was BACK TO LIFE and bullets were flying, dynamite was exploding, and heated Italian words were exchanged. When the dust finally settled, it was determined by a loose coalition of ghostly gunslingers and rule interpreters that Abbie must be awarded the Bronze, I technically, albeit quite undeservedly, won the Silver, and Allie, against all odds, took the Gold. There were grumbles all around, and the first Olympic event ended with as much fanfare as a half-eaten baked potato hitting the bottom of the kitchen trash can.
The next event drawn was Abbie’s entry – Bananagrams. Coming off her Bronze in the previous event, she was hungry for a Gold, and was mentally prepared for a quick and decisive victory. No doubt, Abbie was a formidable competitor in this event, having won many more times than anyone else in our family. (It’s rumored that she carries Bananagrams in her purse and challenges strangers on the street.) But, I had beaten her in a pre-Olympic trial match earlier that day, and was determined to do it again. Neither of us, however, would have predicted what happened next. As the letters flew, and the seven competitors feverishly tried to make words of them before they all ran out, it was an unfamiliar voice that called out the victorious cry of “Bananas!” He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Gamed had won! Alec had stolen the Gold medal! For a moment, Abbie could not believe it and was speechless.
But only for a moment.
After a quick review of Alec’s words, one came up that caught the attention of the Russian judge (i.e., Abbie.) The word was “za” and Abbie cried foul. The crowd went wild and there was great discussion of the validity of this word from both a philosophical and grammatical perspective, with some taking Alec’s side, and others agreeing with Abbie. Alec claimed that “za” was another word for “pizza” and that it was accepted both by Scrabble and Words With Friends – a very strong argument. Abbie countered that Bananagrams did not subscribe to the rules of such inferior games, and that “za” was simply an abbreviation, a fast slang word for a fast food, and therefore not allowed according to the ABC (Authentic Bananagrams Consortium.) Alec did not believe such an organization existed, but he was fighting a losing argument. Per the made-up rule I had established from the first event, Abbie claimed the right to arbitrate the rules for her event, and Alec, much like the 1972 US Men’s Basketball Team, saw his Gold medal stolen by the Russian judge!
Because of those two little letters, a whole new game had to be played, and, of course, this time Abbie walked away with the Gold, adding to the controversy that will undoubtedly go down in Olympic lore, perhaps even more so than my Silver medal in the previous event. I again took Silver in this one, and Allie picked up the Bronze. Alec didn’t medal. But, as we mentioned earlier, he didn’t seem to really care, either.
Surely, there could be no more drama or controversy. The next event would be a game of Liar’s Dice. The rules were simple. Everyone rolls some dice, keeps them hidden, and then bids on how many of some number there were. What could possibly go wrong?
The first thing that went wrong was that I didn’t win. I understood the mathematical odds. I understood that when there are 12 dice on the table, the odds are that there should only be two sixes rolled. And so when more than that showed up, and I got eliminated from the game, nobody else thought it was unfair when we discovered that Maya was playing with a die that only had twos and sixes on it! First of all, why do we even have a die like that in our house? Second of all, it makes a huge difference in the odds! But, remember, my children are cold-hearted. Dad was eliminated, and therefore, in their minds, all was right in the universe. Maya, with her fixed die, took Bronze. Abbie claimed Silver, and Allie, once again, took the Gold.
So, three events down, and Christy, Alec and Evan had still not made it to the medal ceremony for any of the events (at least not officially.) The next game would be Apples to Apples. A harmless game with very little strategy, and the best you can hope for is to be holding a Fuzz card when the adjective is Fuzzy. No such luck for me. The best I could do was put down Earwigs for Romantic, and that was a good round. There was quite a bit of judge-influencing going on, but that was apparently how the game is supposed to be played. And so, it’s not surprising that the three most influential people in our family won. Abbie won the Bronze. I warned you about those puppy-dog eyes. Christy won the Silver and it felt like 1983 all over again. And Maya, the youngest of all, took the Gold! And then she proceeded to dance a jig in our faces with no discernable remorse.
Still no medals for Evan and Alec, but that would surely change with the next event – Smash Brothers, or Mario Smash Party, or Super Mario Smashing Fun, or whatever it was called. A video game, during which, I was told by Evan, all I had to do was move my character close to my opponent with the joystick thingy and then just start pressing random buttons on the controller as fast as I could. I’m sure that’s not a winning strategy, but after he tried to explain how pressing Up, Up, X, Right, Right, B at just the right time would produce some sort of Atomic Superpower Jump and Kick Combination, I told him his first strategy sounded pretty good.
The event was pretty much going to come down to a duel between Evan and Alec, who had undoubtedly logged 500+ hours on the game already. Abbie and Maya would fight it out for the Bronze. Christy and I had no chance. But nothing ever goes according to plan, for at the very moment we began the Smashing Mario Tournament, a couple more of Abbie’s friends just happened to stop by. We’ll call them both John to protect their identities, and also because they were both named John. Or maybe one was Jon and the other was John. It doesn’t matter. The point is that Abbie pulled a rather bold move that I doubt was sanctioned by the Olympic Committee when she allowed Jon or John (can’t remember which) to play for her in the tournament. After one match, it was obvious that this Jon or John dude was a Genuine Mario Super Smashing Beast! He destroyed everyone, including Alec and Evan. (Perhaps his admittance that he had played this game every hour of every day for the entire summer had something to do with it.)
Once again, Alec felt that his well-deserved Gold medal had been swept away by another of Abbie’s fate-turning decisions. At first I thought he might show his frustration, which would surely give away the deep dark secret – that he truly cared. But he held back admirably with a great show of sportsmanship when he exclaimed, only slightly under his breath for all to hear, “Why did Abbie have to invite her STUPID friends!”
So, as it turned out, Jon-John took the Gold. We couldn’t deny him that – he had earned it. Evan and Alec shared the Silver, although both claimed they had beaten the other, apparently when no one else was around to witness it.
The evening was getting late, and we knew that we’d soon be turning on Dick Clark and Ryan Seacrest. Perhaps there was time for one more event before the year, and the Olympics, came to a dramatic close. It would be the Trivial Pursuit game, which turned out to be an American history trivia game. No time to play a full game, each player would be read the questions from a single card and the one who answered the most would win. The questions came fast and furious.
“What state is known as the land of the midnight sun?”
“What two NBA teams call Los Angeles home?” (American history?)
“What is the capital of Nevada?”
On and on they went until Alec had a chance to answer three questions to win the Gold. He got two of them on his own. But the third went sort of like this:
Christy: What state is Lincoln the capital of?
Alec: Ummm . . .
Me: Come on, Alec. Really?
Alec: I want to say . . . Alabama.
Me: Alabama? It’s Nebraska!
Alec: I didn’t say final answer. It’s Nebraska.
Christy: Right! Alec wins the Gold medal!
Me: What? . . . Wait . . . but . . . he . . . ah, whatever . . .
Did I mention it was getting late?
So, Alec finally got his Gold medal, in a trivia contest in which he didn’t know the capital of Nebraska, and, as mentioned, he didn’t care. It was only fitting, considering how the whole evening had gone. When we tallied up the final scores, giving five points for gold medals, three points for silvers, and one point for bronzes, the winner of the first ever New Year’s Eve Martschenko Olympic Games turned out to not be a Martschenko at all. That’s right. Allie won.
Who invited her anyway? Just wait until next year.
Tradition!
