Spaghetti & Chocolate Chip Cookie Tradition

So...it’s quite fortuitous that Chicklet’s social studies work this week has centered around customs and traditions. And helping kiddos understand the significance.

Because today, September 17th, we had the perfect practical example. 

It’s my dad’s birthday. And our traditional family feast that day to honor him has always been spaghetti and chocolate chip cookies (his favorite). So that’s what was cooking/baking up in our house, in Nanna’s house, in older bro’s house, and younger bro’s house.

Across thee states, four casas...a lovely tradition in loving memory of this goofball (thanks, Nanna, for the also-fortuitous timing of uncovering this pic a week or so ago):

I love the shot above, because more than any posed family portrait, it fits my memories of him so well.

So in honor of him tonight, I’ll share on this here blog some of the silly tidbits I like to tell my kiddos to help them feel connected to their Grandpa Jim, who they never met.

I remember holding his feet while he did sit-ups.

I remember hunting him down in his master closet, where he always took naps (probably to try to get away from us young gremlins, ha.)

I remember my brothers and I removing everything from the garage nearly every weekend to help him hose it down—and our cars as well. To this day, the scent of wet concrete brings back those days.

I remember the nicknames he gave everyone and everything. And they still stick.

I remember a year or so before he passed, when he was abstaining from french fries so he could try and lower his cholesterol, and my brothers and I would try to sneak some into his (healthier) food when we went to McDonald’s. And he would always find the fries before he ate them.

I remember his ‘80’s and ‘90’s-era awesomesauce track suits.

I remember the nut grinder he used for toppings on his ice cream.

I remember him helping us roll out the dough and sprinkle the flour when we were making our family recipe of traditional sugar cookies.

I remember when we were driving and close to home, he would bet me how many seconds it would take to pull in the driveway, and I was too young to realize he could speed up or slow down to always win that bet. I just thought it was magic.

I remember his fantastic oldies tunes playing on cassette tape in his car.

I remember the way he used to tease me and push on my belly first thing in the morning to get me to giggle before I went to the restroom.

I remember bobbing for apples at our neighborhood Halloween block party when he was dressed in tights with his pumpkin costume.

I remember the shape of his penmanship—and the clue it gave me when I was old enough to connect it to Santa.

So many tiny, wonderful memories filled with nothing but sillies and joy.

Now that my kiddos are older, they ask a lot of questions on days like today when I bring up Grandpa Jim. I think it’s strange for them—especially Chica, since she’s nearly the age I was when he passed—to wrap their brains around the whole thing.

And, honestly, the brains—and mouths—of babes can sometimes be a little unintentionally blunt. There’s no tact when they ask details or even offer direct condolences, “I’m sorry your dad is dead.” Ha. I can’t tell you how many times they said that to me out of the blue today. And Chicklet even shared that tidbit with her small group partner during her class Zoom today. Oye.

But at the same time, it’s kind of a beautiful thing to be able to talk and answer their musings so freely and find a way to always bring it back around to the goodness of him as a human being. And basically, to just talk about the whole shebang, all day long 

Grandpa Jim might not be here in person (wipe your tears, Nanna), but he’s for sure here in the spirit of his three kids, and now four grandkids.

And teaching my own three about our spaghetti and chocolate chip cookies on September 17th is one tradition I know we’ll never forget.