“Merry Christmas to all, and a happy, happy new year,” the Salsoul Orchestra sang from the speakers. My mother’s mom played this record when she was growing up, and it became a part of my childhood.

I grew up in an Italian-American household. The elders gifted as much as they could to the next generation, whether it be music, life lessons, or traditions. Often, these rituals happened during the jolliest times of the calendar. Every season, when my grandparents were alive, we had a guaranteed lineup of how the holidays would go. This was lore set up long before I had a memory or a thought.

Our family spent the evening at my mom’s brother’s home and stayed there until right before bedtime. Almost without fail, when we were nearing our apartment, someone in the car would say they could hear Santa’s sleigh bells. As children, we buzzed with enthusiasm knowing Kris Kringle was close by. When we returned home, we put on our latest holiday pajamas and went to bed so Santa could come to town.

The next morning, my brother and I would get up bright and early. We had a set of French doors that separated us from the tree. The only rule was that we had to have breakfast. It was nearly always cinnamon rolls, required before we did anything. This was the quiet way my mother made sure we ate before the madness began.

Once we finished eating, we opened our stuff and showed off our loot. We displayed all our new items with joy, showing them off for the camera. Watching those tapes back, it’s easy to detect the gratification in their voices as the adults reacted with excitement to any heartfelt response we gave them. When the opening concluded, we gathered our stuff and put it into our rooms. We had a few hours to have fun before my mom’s sister and my grandparents came to spend the day.

Each year remained like this until my Pop passed away. The familial bonds dimmed with the passing of our patriarch. But not all customs faded. As this chapter of my family closed, I welcomed new ones. The old ways shifted into mere modifications of what they had been. My wife saw parts of my past but also allowed a glimpse into what the future would be.

My early 20s were abundant in love. The holidays were a proclamation of affection. We’d vie for who gave the best gift, cuddle under cozy blankets, and watch all the classic movies we liked. It was the perfect mix of both of our favorite things from childhood. My wife became the biggest catalyst in my enjoyment of the holidays. She ensured we had our tree, gifts, and enjoyed each other together, away from family. No amount of magic or whimsy was off limits, regardless of our being older. Good tidings didn’t end with adulthood; if anything, they were beginning.

Our love for this joyous time peaked when we got engaged in December, 2016. We took a week-long trip to Disney World, celebrating all things holiday. Seeing the holiday themes in each park is a memory I’ll hold dear forever. The trip concluded with her proposal in front of the castle. The fun didn’t end with our trip, because the following week, when we got home, I proposed to her while we decorated our tree. It was a perfect testament of how much we thrived during the happiest festive periods.

These days, we often find ourselves swept up in the responsibilities that come with our roles. A mix of work, being the eldest in each of our families, and trying to forge our own paths. We put in the effort to contribute to each gathering of our respective families. But each December, we try to make magic where we can. Whether it’s staying up late to watch an old favorite or wrapping the picture frames in the apartment with gift wrap. Magic will prevail.

Being a part of traditions has blessed me throughout my existence. These happy memories serve as a reminder of the loving warmth of the family I came from. No matter what happened between us, we all walked away as better people. Every second spent together helped build the foundation of who I’ve become as an adult. Remembering the past brings about happiness and melancholy because of how quickly time passes. While I’m sad to let go of what was, I’m excited about what will become. I aspire to have a family that continues my traditions and makes their own along the way.

Editor: Lucy Cafiero