Category Archives: Customs

Customs, conventions, and traditions of a group

California Lemon Ritual: Visiting Family On The East Coast

Nationality: American
Age: 63
Occupation: Retired
Residence: Alameda, California

Informant Information

Age: 63

Date of Performance: 2/18/2025

Language: English

Nationality: American

Occupation: Retired

Primary Language: English

Residence: Alameda, California

Text

“If you grew up in California and all your family lives on the East Coast, you grow a lemon tree. When you visit family there, you bring lemons because it’s very exotic because you can’t grow lemons on the East Coast. You put them in a bag and then pack them in your suitcase. Eventually, some family members began visiting us on the West Coast when they got older, and they’d pick their own lemons from our lemon tree. I have a lemon tree in my backyard as a present for my husband because he’s from the South, and you also can’t grow lemons there.”

Context

The informant was born and raised in California, while her extended family remained on the East Coast. Her parents were originally from the East Coast, and she made frequent visits throughout her life. As part of those visits, she carried a seemingly simple but meaningful gift — fresh California lemons. This act became ritualized within her family, rooted in the regional differences in agriculture and climate. Lemons, while technically possible to grow in parts of the East and South, are far more common and thriving in California’s mild climate. In colder or more humid regions, lemon trees are vulnerable to environmental damage and rarely flourish.

For her family, receiving these lemons symbolized a piece of California, a vibrant, fragrant token of the West Coast lifestyle. When family members later visited her in California, they cherished the opportunity to pick lemons from her tree themselves. The ritual became a two-way cultural exchange, a reflection of rootedness and connection to place. Later, she planted a lemon tree in her own backyard as a housewarming gift to her Southern-born husband, making the tree not only a familial tradition but also a personal and romantic gesture.

Analysis

This lemon-gifting ritual illustrates how everyday items can carry deep cultural and emotional meaning, especially across geographic boundaries. What begins as a practical act of bringing fresh produce to family transforms into a ritual that marks identity, nostalgia, and care. The lemon tree functions as a living symbol of California, and its fruit becomes a physical expression of home, warmth, and abundance.

The act of transporting lemons across coasts shows the significance of regional differences in agricultural production while also emphasizing how natural resources can become symbolic commodities in family relationships. The ritual communicates more than just gift-giving. It speaks to the longing for home, the pride in one’s origin, and the desire to share that with loved ones who live far away. Furthermore, the informant’s continuation of the tradition by planting her own tree and offering it as a gift to her husband reflects how rituals evolve to include new meanings. The lemon tree is now both a bridge to her past and a symbol of unity in her marriage, showing how folklore adapts to new contexts while preserving its emotional roots.

Golden Eggs, Ham, and the “Easter Feeling”

Text

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.

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.

Induction Pranks of Passage TTRPGs

The Informant

GL is a long time tabletop roleplaying game (TTRPG) player with years of experience as a Game Master (a special role in TTRPGs). When I first asked about Induction Pranks in TTRPGs, GL had some time to discuss with some other members of the community before our interview.

The Text

The informant reports a few different induction pranks and common shared experiences that qualifies someone as a member of the TTRPG community, distinctly differentiating two sets between GMs and players. For Game Masters, the common experience is dealing with the first problem player, a whole subset of narrative genres emerging from this experience can be found on the subreddit r/RPGHorrorStories. The informant cites chaotic and evil player characters, which is a distinct tradition of D&D alignment stemming from Original Dungeons and Dragons. When he exchanges stories with other GMs, while telling success stories can be fun, tales of how terrible a particular player was to work with is an effective way of relating to each other. For players, while the informant reports that the community is generally averse to gatekeeping in recent years due to the nerdy and niche reputation and history the game has, he recounts how older players in the OSR community will put new players through the “death funnel,” a meat grinder dungeon that will kill several player characters to get the player accustommed to the brutal game style of older games. We discussed how this reflects a cultural shift in the TTRPG landscape in the modern age where players become more attached to their characters and think of themselves as the hero of the story whereas older D&D is more about the dungeon crawl, with any given character not expected to live through the story.

We then talked about unique signifers of the TTRPG player identity, such as maps and miniatures, which led to our discussion of how conversely, despite being a “tabletop” game, most TTRPGs can be played without a map or grid or any miniatures at all with the “theater of mind,” which we agreed was very unique to TTRPGs as wargames tend to rely on a grid or map and the miniature sets. Extending from that, we discussed how owning a set of dice can identify a TTRPG player, particular the 20-sided dice, which is hardly ever used for any other game and iconic to D&D. If someone owns a cohesive themed set of dice from 4-sided to 6, 8, 10, 12, and 20, then that is a sure certain sign of a TTRPG player. In a way, the moment a player buys their own set of dice instead of borrowing someone else’s indicates a commitment and thus induction to the community. The other example he talked about was creating one’s own first character, which players nowadays are more likely to be attached to as mentioned earlier. Even though the character may never be played in an actual game, a TTRPG player can likely be identified by their excitement to share their character ideas, character sheet build, or even stories involving that character from a game.

Analysis

This was a particularly interview as the informant came prepared, giving a blason populaire about his own ingroup of fellow GMs and particularly problematic players who play chaotic and evil characters, citing a specific experience that identifies a particular community. Older players also have an “induction prank” for newer players when playing older systems to shatter their idea of TTRPGs before welcoming them to the experience, but it’s also interesting to note that this hobby doesn’t try to gatekeep newcomers with anything that could be qualified as hazing. Aside from the “death funnel” and Gary Gygax’s Tomb of Annihilation dungeon designed to kill player characters, we both thought of a particular video as an another example of this “induction prank” in D&D: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OBmNThMZJ1U

“Off record,” he joked that the real hazing is letting new players play 5th edition (a particularly divisve version of the game he dislikes but is otherwise a popular gateway game), but he notes that many other players in the community would disagree with the sentiment of the joke. Noting the uniqueness of TTRPG dice sets, a rite of passage presents itself in the form of buying the first set of dice, an example of Stuart Hall’s reception with the expression of community membership identity performance via consumerism. We laughed about how cheap it is to actually buy a dice set (you can get like a pack of 10 sets of 5 dollars), but at the same time, nobody else would bother with buying such a set of dice.

Less materialistic indications of membership are player characters, where a newcomer exploring the hobby might borrow a prebuilt character while TTRPG players committed to the hobby will not only have the knowledge to build their own characters but be actively invested in them as a proxy of themselves that they would like to roleplay as. In a sense, this is akin to a fantastical identity localized within this particular hobby or at a particular table, and modern players who focus more on the epic narrative of a band of heroes on an adventure invested in the safety and prosperity of their characters as an extension of the performed identity of the self. This is comparable to the process of an initiation ritual for community membership.

TTRPG Dice Superstitions and Rituals

The Informant

E.T. is a long-time tabletop roleplaying game (TTRPG) hobbyist and player who has played in several games at real life tables using real physical dice that must be tossed by hand as opposed to digital random number generators. TTRPGs rely on sets of dice of various face sizes in

Text

Amongst E.T.’s collection of dice sets include favored dice sets such as his “pansexual dice.” He insists on carrying the dice, or else “they’ll misbehave.” He “trains” his dice, ritualistically pulling them out one at a time, grouping and categorizing them by face number. Then, all the die are placed highest number up to condition them to roll that number more in the future. He notes that he does not utilize “dice jail” that often, only when a particular dice is especially egregious for a session. Although he reports that trained dice tend not to perform that poorly, the pansexual dice notably acts up every now and then. He insists that training dice work due to the estimated measurement comparison where his digital dice underperform compared to his trained physical dice.

E.T. has a cat that passed away a couple years back, and he uses her food bowl as the “dice jail” for misbehaving dice. The cat had no quality that would help the dice rehabilitate, but it’s a sentimental use for the bowl he’s held onto since. If he’s hosting a game session with players he is not fond of, he will give them dice that have a history of poor performance. Apparently, it is necessary to keep them in specific bags along with charms for “positive vibes.” The favorite dice gets a more spacious satin satch instead of the usual velvet one. He also reports a friend and fellow TTRPG player who puts dice in a mason jar under the full moon to absorb of the power of the moon. This can be either to cleanse unlucky dice or to bless dice.

Analysis

Dice rituals and magic can be fairly easily categorized as Frazer’s sympathetic magic, particularly contageous magic that associates good luck with particular sets of dice. The process of trying to enchant dice by imbuing it with moonlight is contageous magic that attempts to rub off the cosmic force onto the statistical random number generator by association. The idea that dice can be trained to roll higher numbers simply by “conditioning” them with deliberate face placement as a ritual similarly hopes that the time spent on the face with the biggest number will persist in future uses of the dice. Conversely, dice with historically bad luck becomes stuck with the contageous misfortune until a conversion ritual is performed, such as with the mason jar and moonlight. As a fantasy roleplay game, the medium itself lends itself towards players who are inclined and willing to partake in magical and superstitious practices, if not for genuinely belief, at least for fun and roleplay.