Tradition

Tradition. In the deep South, every New Year is greeted with tradition. This one was no different. Sometimes, though, Chelsea wanted to run as far as she could from tradition. It was old-fashioned and tiresome.

Chelsea was not a party animal, so she didn't ring in the New Year with friends at the bar, staying until midnight and waiting for the champagne toast. She wasn't exactly a homebody either. In fact, when the holidays came around, she would rather be just about anywhere than home.

Home was where she felt like a huge disappointment to those who knew her. She was the single girl in her friend group with no desire to change that any time soon. That fact also led to great consternation for her mother and grandmother. They couldn't wait to get her married off and having babies.

Every holiday was the same. Somehow, New Year's was always the worst, though. Everyone thought her resolution was to "find a man and settle down" when the truth was she didn't make resolutions. She didn't believe in them. There was one tradition she would have to avoid at today's family dinner--sharing her resolution, or lack of resolution.

Every New Year's Day, the entire family gathered at Grandma's for the traditional Southern New Year's feast. There would be heaping bowls full of mashed potatoes, black-eyed peas, and greens to complement the hog jowl, pork roast, and cornbread. Dessert would be cake. Always and forever a yellow cake with homemade seven-minute icing that was usually way too sweet, but everyone ate it and proclaimed it the best yet.

After everyone gorged themselves with as much food and sweet tea as possible, they all gathered in the cramped living room around the old wood heater and shared their resolutions. Why? Tradition. It had been done the same way for as long as Chelsea could remember and for as long as her mother and father could remember before her.

They even ate from the same plates every year. Once, when Chelsea was eight or nine, she asked her grandmother if they could use the green plates that she loved instead of the ones they were setting on the table. Her grandmother simply looked at her and said, "We always use these," and that was the end of that.

This year would be no different. Even the stories would be the same stories that were told every single year. Why? Tradition.

As Chelsea stood in her small house wondering what to wear, she contemplated skipping this year's dinner. Maybe they would believe her if she said she was sick. The more she thought about that solution, the more she realized that it would create an entirely different set of issues for her. For example, her mother would make sure leftovers were delivered to her door for tonight's supper, along with several varieties of homemade soup and enough medicine to cure a horse.

Ugh! She really didn't want to hear how smart Danny's twins were and how sweet the baby had been opening her Christmas presents last week at home. She also didn't think she could listen to Aunt Grace tell her even one more time that she was too pretty to be single. And Uncle Keith would tell so many dad jokes that you'd never guess he'd never even been a dad. After all, it was tradition.

Chelsea briefly wondered if she could get away with finding a quiet corner and reading all afternoon. Quiet! That in itself was a joke at Grandma's house. Everyone there always talked at the same time, and no one actually listened to what anyone else said. It was tradition.

Mom swore it was the same way at her grandmother's when she was a girl. Dad swore his granny's house was just as loud when he was little too. Still, Chelsea hated the loud noise at Grandma's. It was overwhelming and often migraine-inducing.

Her siblings didn't seem to mind the noise. They fit right in with everyone else. They loved the resolution sharing. They loved the traditional meal on the traditional plates. They even loved the superstitions that went with the traditional meal.

Chelsea didn't even like the meal. The smell of the greens nauseated her, and she had never understood how people actually liked black-eyed peas. However, she would have no choice if she ate at Grandma's. Why? Tradition.

Chelsea was 24 years old and still treated like a child when she visited her Grandma. She even ended up seated at the children's table with the twins and her littlest cousins. Why? Tradition.

One day, when Chelsea was a bit braver, she would avoid the entire dinner at Grandma's. This wasn't going to be that year, though. This year, she would put on something that screamed festive, get in her car, and drive across town to Grandma's house. This year, she would likely sit at the kids' table again with her cousins and the twins. This year, she would choke down the spoonful of greens and peas, and rave about the too sweet seven-minute icing on the cake.

Why was Chelsea going to do all that? The same reason she had every year of her 24 years of existence. Tradition.

She would leave the book at home. She would go, and she would make the best of it. Because it was expected. Because she knew her mother would be disappointed if she didn't come. Because her dad would be looking for her. Because it was tradition for all of them to be together.

Chelsea went to her bedroom and began to look in earnest for the perfect festive outfit. It had to say, "I'm here for the holiday, bring on the tradition, but I'm still comfortable," while being perfect for any temperature. So, layers, because in the dining room it would feel like the arctic tundra, but in the living room it would feel like she'd stepped into the tropical rainforest.

Chelsea settled on black leggings, her favorite red oversized t-shirt, and the oversized black cardigan that made her feel at home no matter where she was. She paired the outfit with her favorite black knee boots. Glancing in the mirror, Chelsea felt like she was ready to take on anything. Even Grandma's house. Even tradition.