Author Archives: blackban

Golden Eggs, Ham, and the “Easter Feeling”

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Every Easter, our entire extended family gathers at my grandmother’s house. There was never a formal reason–my grandma told me, “It just sort of ended up that way.” What began as a casual decision eventually solidified into tradition.

My Grandma recalled one of her favorite parts, “you kids would sprint through the backyard and living room for the Easter egg hunt. I loved it…” “…I always laughed at the fact that even though there were dozens of eggs filled with chocolate, you were all focused on the same thing: the ‘golden eggs…’” The golden eggs are indeed funny, there were always three of them–shiny, oversized plastic eggs that each held a five-dollar bill. We, as kids, didn’t really understand the value of five dollars back then. What mattered was the rarity. The golden eggs were sacred. We fought over them like little archaeologists hunting treasure, more excited by the idea of “winning” than by what was inside.

Later in the day, we’d all sit down for Easter dinner, always centered around a glazed ham. My grandma told me that it came from her father–“He always made a ham for Easter.” What she added, without ever needing to say so out loud, was the practice of everyone bringing something to the table. As the guest list grew each year, so did the variety of dishes. The potluck-style meal grew naturally out of necessity, but it came to define our Easter just as much as the egg hunt.

This last Easter was different. There was no egg hunt–there hasn’t been for a few years now–and the gathering wasn’t at Grandma’s house. Her home was damaged in the LA fires, and fewer people were able to come. Still, my grandma told me, “It still felt like Easter… There was family. There was laughter. And there was ham.”

Context

This tradition was expanded upon to me by my grandmother, who reflected fondly on years of hosting Easter at her home. She admitted that it wasn’t originally her intention to become the family’s “Easter matriarch”–it just happened. Over time, her home became the default gathering spot, and rituals formed naturally around that consistency.

She described the joy of watching us as children during the egg hunts, laughing at how seriously we took the hunt for the golden eggs. Though she couldn’t recall when or why that part of the tradition started, it clearly took on a life of its own. The money inside the eggs was never the point–it was the prestige, the shimmer, the chase. Something she[and I] looks back on now with warm nostalgia.

The dinner evolved more deliberately. She explained that her father always served ham on Easter, and when she began hosting, she continued that tradition. Over time, guests began bringing dishes of their own. She never asked them to–it just became understood. In her words, “It was never about telling people what to bring. It just made sense.” The gathering grew, the table expanded, and Easter became an informal but deeply rooted expression of our family’s thread that ties us all together.

Even after being unable to enter her home[thankfully not burnt down], and despite the changing logistics and attendance, she expressed a deep certainty: the “Easter feeling” had nothing to do with eggs or décor. It was about presence, food, and connection.

Analysis

This entry illustrates how informal rituals, when repeated and emotionally reinforced, evolve into meaningful family folklore. What began as a loose gathering became tradition through consistency and emotional investment. The Easter egg hunt, the golden eggs, and the communal meal are all ritualized behaviors that define Easter–not by religious observance, but by shared memory and performance.

The “golden egg” tradition, though not rooted in ancient folklore, mirrors folkloric patterns–assigning symbolic value to a rare object and embedding it in a playful competition. As with many children’s traditions, the meaning wasn’t in the literal reward, but in the emotional significance, the role-playing, and the storytelling that followed. It reflects how children interact with tradition through symbolism, scarcity, and status–concepts that resonate across many cultural customs.

Similarly, the evolution of the Easter meal highlights adaptive ritual: how tradition grows through informal negotiation. The potluck-style dinner wasn’t dictated–it arose organically, responding to shifting family size and resources. This mirrors how many communal folk practices begin: organically, in response to need, but later sustained by emotional investment.

The somewhat loss of the family home due to the LA fires introduces another layer: how tradition persists even in the absence of its physical setting. My grandmother’s insistence that “it still felt like Easter” reveals a truth about folklore–it’s less about place or object, and more about feeling, continuity, and presence. Even stripped of its original setting, the tradition held. And that endurance–the “Easter feeling”–is the most folkloric element of all.

Green Toilet Water & Leprechaun Traps: A St. Patrick’s Day Home Ritual

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Every St. Patrick’s Day, my informant’s family embraced a quirky tradition that transformed their house into a playful leprechaun hideout. When he was a child, he would wake up to find all the toilet water in the house dyed bright green. Sometimes the milk in the fridge was green too. The explanation? “The leprechauns must have peed in the toilet!” his parents told him, turning what might seem odd or gross into a magical sign of leprechaun mischief.

Beyond the household pranks, his school also took part in the fun. In elementary school, he and his classmates were encouraged to build “leprechaun traps,” small craft projects designed to catch the elusive creatures and, hopefully, earn a share of their gold. He remembers one trap in particular: “I painted it green, gave it a rainbow, and included a miniature pot of gold filled with plastic coins.” The traps were never successful–leprechauns, after all, are notoriously tricky–but they added to the sense of enchantment that surrounded the holiday each year.

Context
My informant recalled these traditions as part of his early childhood, especially between the ages of 5 and 9. He explained that the green toilet water and milk were surprises that would appear the morning of March 17th–small, imaginative gestures from his parents meant to keep the magic of the holiday alive. Though the tradition wasn’t linked to any religious or cultural identity in his household, it functioned as an annual burst of fun, one that made St. Patrick’s Day feel special even without a major family gathering or party.

At school, the leprechaun traps were an institutionalized form of holiday play, guided by teachers who framed it as a creative art activity. While the traps themselves were never functional, the idea that something magical might have visited the classroom overnight added an element of suspense and wonder. Though my informant no longer celebrates the holiday in the same way, these memories stood out as defining childhood moments–both silly and strangely memorable.

Analysis
This home custom illustrates how American families often adapt holidays like St. Patrick’s Day into playful, child-centered rituals that rely heavily on imagination, mischief, and material transformation. Though St. Patrick’s Day is originally rooted in Irish Catholic tradition, its contemporary celebration in the U.S.–particularly among non-Irish families–often takes the form of secular, creative play.

The dyed toilet water and milk represent a kind of “domesticated folklore,” where parents intentionally alter everyday environments to encourage a suspension of disbelief. The joke that “leprechauns have green pee” serves both as an explanation and a storytelling device, keeping the legend alive in absurd, humorous form. This aligns with broader traditions of holiday trickery, such as the Tooth Fairy leaving glitter or Santa eating cookies–actions that bridge folklore with parental performance.

The leprechaun traps, meanwhile, connect to a form of children’s ritualized play that blends belief with craft. These projects teach children to imagine, to hope for magical outcomes, and to participate in a shared cultural game–even if they know the payoff is imaginary. In this way, the practice reinforces values like creativity, humor, and seasonal anticipation, all while fostering a sense of community through parallel rituals at home and school.

Ultimately, this custom demonstrates that even informal, low-stakes traditions can hold deep folkloric meaning. They reflect how modern families re-enchant the everyday, turning plumbing and plastic coins into touchpoints for wonder, bonding, and shared memory.

Christmas Crowns, Cracker Jokes, and “Reindeer Poop”

Word of Mouth From my Mother

If you didn’t notice son, Christmas is a carefully choreographed tradition–I like to think of it as a mix of cozy ritual, a bit of British custom, and some parental magic. Every year, we manage to host your aunts, uncles, grandparents, and family friends under one roof, crowding them around a long dinner table for a meal that never changes: your father’s signature roast, buttery potatoes, and whatever else[she talked about as these dishes seeming to appear out of nowhere but feeling like they’ve always belonged]…

…You remember the main custom, before the meal begins, we all pop Christmas crackers, wear the paper crowns, and tell the corny jokes or trivia questions. Everyone has to wear their crown, no exceptions. [Something of a silent rule.] Inevitably, [Uncle name] brings the energy to the meal as he tries to guess the answer to someone else’s riddle before they finish reading it. It’s chaotic, silly, and comforting–exactly how it’s supposed to be…

…Remember on Christmas eve, we’d leave out a plate of cookies and a glass of milk for Santa, and you and your sister would go to bed, your father and I would leave out a few wrinkled dates in the front yard as “reindeer poop.” We’d also make sure that before Every Christmas morning, no matter how old you two[me and my sister] got, the milk would be half-drunk, the cookies nibbled, and the dates scattered. Even now, when you all know the “truth,” we still put the plate and dates out. It’s tradition…

Context

I interviewed my mom about our family’s Christmas rituals, and she lit up almost immediately. “It’s the one time of year when everyone is just… there,” she said. For her, Christmas was always about creating a sense of continuity–blending traditions from her own childhood with the new ones she and my dad created when we were young. The paper crowns and Christmas crackers come from my dad’s British side of the family, and they’ve been part of every holiday she can remember. “You can’t not wear the crown. It’s just part of the meal,” she joked.

She described how she and my dad would take turns arranging the Santa plate late at night–taking a careful bite of the cookies, sipping the milk just right, and tossing a few dates in the yard to complete the illusion.

These rituals weren’t grand or showy, but they were performed with deep consistency. Even now, with the kids grown, my parents still go through the motions–not because we believe, but because we remember.

Analysis

This Christmas tradition is an excellent example of domestic folklore: habitual, symbolic acts carried out within the family to affirm identity, belonging, and memory. While none of the individual actions–crackers, roast, Santa plates–are unique on their own, the specific combination of these elements, repeated year after year, becomes a form of narrative performance that binds the family together.

The Christmas crackers and paper crowns reflect a cultural carryover from British holiday customs, adapted into the family’s American context. They serve as both props and prompts–each one delivering not just a joke but a shared experience. The insistence on everyone wearing the crowns transforms a simple object into a badge of belonging, and the ritualized groaning at jokes adds a performative dimension to the meal.

The Santa cookies and “reindeer poop” represent another key aspect of holiday folklore: magical realism within childhood belief systems. These actions deliberately blur the line between fiction and reality, giving children something to believe in while also offering parents a way to perform care and wonder. Even as belief fades, the actions remain–now functioning not as proof of Santa, but as proof of love and continuity.

In this sense, the tradition has matured alongside the family: once a tool of imagination, it now functions as a nostalgic ritual that reaffirms connection across time. The ongoing performance of the Santa plate–even when no one is fooled–embodies the essence of folklore: shared meaning enacted again and again, not because we need to believe, but because we want to remember. It’s part of the ties that bind our family together and I will definitely continue this tradition–if not add onto it–with my own kids when the time comes.

Día de Los Reyes Magos (Three Kings Day)

Transcript of Interview with my Informant:

Each year on January 6th, my family celebrates Día de Los Reyes Magos, or Three Kings Day, a tradition with roots in Catholic faith and Hispanic culture. The story goes that Melchor, Gaspar, and Balthasar–guided by the star of Bethlehem–brought gifts to the newborn Jesus. In honor of this event, our family gathers at someone’s home (sometimes mine) and shares a special sweet bread called Rosca de Reyes. The bread is circular, topped with colorful dried fruit, and contains hidden figurines of baby Jesus inside.

During the celebration, each family cuts a slice of the Rosca. If someone finds a figurine inside their piece, they’re “chosen” to host a gathering later in the year–symbolizing both a blessing and a responsibility. It’s a mix of excitement and groaning laughter when someone finds one; some are honored, others jokingly curse their luck.

On the night before, January 5th, children place a shoe near the door or under the Christmas tree, awaiting small gifts from the Three Kings by morning–just as kids do with Santa Claus on Christmas. While we’ve adapted parts of the tradition for our life in the U.S., the essence remains: a celebration of faith, family, and culture that marks both the joy of giving and the hope of a new year.

Context:

My informant first became aware of the significance of Día de Los Reyes Magos as a child, but admitted they didn’t initially recognize it as a distinct or formal “tradition.” Growing up in a Hispanic family in the U.S., the celebration felt like an extension of everyday life–something “normal,” even if classmates or neighbors didn’t understand it. The ritual of gathering around the Rosca and the playful suspense of finding the baby Jesus figurine stood out as moments of connection and community.

Celebrations would rotate between family members’ homes, often becoming larger events when someone “won” the figurine. These gatherings served not just as cultural practice, but also as a form of reunion–bringing relatives together after the holidays for one more festive moment. The act of putting out a shoe for gifts was a quiet, joyful echo of Christmas traditions, but with its own spiritual undertone tied to the biblical Magi.

The informant noted that these rituals, though modest in scale compared to holidays like Christmas, carry a different kind of emotional weight. They blend the sacred with the familial, and even the humorous–like the yearly joking dread of having to host the next party. Though they didn’t see their upbringing as “filled with traditions” at first, reflecting on this holiday made them realize how layered and meaningful these recurring events are.

Analysis:

The Día de Los Reyes Magos tradition functions as a cultural bridge, connecting the informant’s Hispanic heritage with their life in the United States. Like many diasporic traditions, it has been adapted to new social contexts–reshaped by work schedules, school calendars, and community life–yet remains firmly rooted in Catholic ritual and familial bonds.

The act of sharing the Rosca de Reyes and discovering the baby figurine exemplifies how folklore can use food as both a symbolic and functional tool. The bread becomes more than a treat–it’s a ritual object, one that assigns roles (the future host), invites storytelling, and reinforces familial obligations through humor and fate. In this way, the tradition embodies both luck and labor: blessings that come with responsibilities, just as faith comes with commitment.

Furthermore, the informant’s reflection illustrates the invisible ubiquity of folk practices–how traditions can be so woven into daily life that their significance is only recognized when viewed from outside or upon reflection. The use of shoes to receive gifts also echoes other folk traditions (like Dutch Sinterklaas or Saint Nicholas Day), showing the shared human impulse to mythologize generosity and moral reward during midwinter festivals.

Ultimately, this tradition is not just about religious observance. It is about identity–how faith, food, family, and folklore sustain cultural memory and offer moments of grounding and joy in the midst of American life. It’s a celebration not just of the Three Kings, but of the endurance of heritage in a changing world.

Spanish Ancestry and Family Heritage (Family Legend)

From My Informant:
 “A family story that has been passed down is the arrival of our Spanish ancestors to Mexico, many of whom were captains or individuals looking for a place to build a better future during the 1600s and 1700s.”

Context:
My informant first became deeply interested(not to say that they weren’t already) in their family history about two years ago, prompting discussions with multiple relatives including their grandmother, parents, aunts, and uncles. These conversations typically took place during family gatherings, celebrations, or holidays—occasions where stories naturally emerged. My informant described the storytelling experience as mixed; while some family members enthusiastically shared memories with vivid hand gestures and smiles, others were notably reluctant, withholding details and even disputing certain aspects of the family narrative.

The lack of visual documentation, such as photographs, due to limited access to early cameras, meant that the oral storytelling tradition became especially significant within my informant’s family. This storytelling environment revealed family tensions and differing attitudes towards their Spanish heritage, often highlighting discomfort with aspects of colonization and historical relations between Spain and Mexico.

Analysis:
My informant’s story underscores the complex interplay between personal identity, cultural heritage, and historical memory. The reluctance of some family members to share certain aspects of their past reflects broader cultural and historical anxieties about colonization and identity in the Hispanic world, particularly between Spain and Mexico. This family legend serves as both a repository of familial pride and an uncomfortable reminder of historical tensions associated with colonization.

Family narratives, such as the one with my informant, are vital in preserving cultural identity and transmitting intergenerational memory. They provide individuals with a sense of belonging, shaping their understanding of their heritage and personal identity. My informant’s effort to uncover this history indicates a desire for deeper personal connection and cultural awareness, despite potential familial resistance or discomfort.

Although my informant did not feel completely comfortable with sharing their family’s “baggage” with the outside world, they ultimately wanted their narrative to highlight the importance of preserving familial stories, regardless of their complexity or discomfort, as a means of fostering cultural pride and a deeper understanding of personal identity. This storytelling practice serves as a vital link, connecting past generations to future ones, enabling individuals to grasp their cultural and historical roots more fully.