SIBLINGS WHO CELEBRATE by Blake Smith

I belong to an American family that loves recreational activities.  Each year, the holidays bring us together in a very specific way.  On December 24th, the Smith siblings gather in the basement of our home for a night of celebratory tradition.

The Sibs

This all begins with the migration down the stairs.  When my brothers, sister and I were younger, this entailed grabbing a pillow and blanket before leaping down into the space below our home.  Some of the kids were quartered there already throughout the years, and would only have to open their bedroom doors to walk into the living space.  This tradition is one of the only ones we have, and we hold to it carefully.  The family to which I belong has certainly evolved in my lifetime.  I am the youngest, and now the only child remaining unmarried.  A few of my siblings have moved to very far away places, and some to not-so-distant locations.  However, the step that remains the same is the one taken downward by each sibling, each year, with armfuls of bedding and snacks, from the top of our stairs.

Once all have descended, and all items are tossed onto couches or carpet, it is time to select a movie.  This is essential because it is a device that works towards our common goal of reaching the next day.  It does the job of a time machine, transporting us, in a pleasant way, to a much later hour.  The choices are strewn across the space in front of my brother's knees in the middle of the room--the weight of each plastic rectangular case distributed among crowds of soft, green, support columns.  No one wants to choose, and each sibling wears a face of pretended disinterest.  "Leanne, pick a movie..." is spoken by half of the brothers to the only sister they have.  Her argument always, is a valid yet unacknowledged one.  She warns us that she will only fall asleep within the first 20 minutes, and shouldn't be forced to choose the film.  After Leanne chooses the film, each brother settles into their seat and watches intently until the credits roll.

"Leanne, pick a movie."

Leanne's long, shallow breaths are quickly turned into hurried, conscious ones with the flip of the light switch following the film.  Energy floods the basement as we realize the occasion (and consume small amounts of sugary treats).  Next we play Mario Kart.  After we watch a movie together, we habitually plug in the game console and dive across the ottoman for the best controller.  This has always been the case, as long as I've been a part of the family, and always this game.  In years when my brother and I were less-aged and the older siblings were less patient, this phase of the night had disastrous potential.  Our skill levels have always varied across a wide range, and the outcomes of each race become frustratingly repetitive, as well as competitive.  The virtual relays continue, regardless, and we all enjoy this special part of the evening's tradition.

After playing the game for about an hour longer than each of us intended, and exactly as long as each of us should have expected, we agree to attempt slumber.  We all try, and try we must, but with differing levels of effort.  A few of us, varying from year to year, can sink into the warm crevice of a familiar sofa and drift into sleep with ease.  The rest of us remain lying there with eyes wide open.  I am of the latter kind.  It should be simple to fall asleep; I do it every night.  Unfortunately this night is certainly unique, which only adds to the trouble at hand.  It becomes rather boring listening to other bodies survive while their minds carry them away to peaceful worlds.  Eric is always awake as well, but we refrain from talking, mostly to avoid disturbing others with the outbursts of laughter that would inevitably follow.  Also, because we are both fighting congruent yet individual battles.  It is an annual struggle, yet I can never recall its ending.  I only know that I have defeated the restlessness of anticipation when I awake to the new day.

The legacy of the basement celebration is continued into the few early moments of that new day spent downstairs--literally, at the bottom of the stairs.  Eric arises before anyone else, followed shortly after by myself.  we force ourselves to wait as long as we can to wake the others, sometimes retreating to the screen for an extra round of Mario Kart.  Once everyone has replaced their humanistic cravings to remain asleep with holiday warmth and a sleepy smile we huddle at the base of the stairwell.  We wait, like gently rippling water within a water well to ascend into the euphoria above.

For many people everywhere, ritualistic tradition fills the 25th of December.  For my family every year, that day is unpredictable and still rather exciting, but not the highlight of the season.  It is what naturally follows an eve

 of repeated and dependable excitement.  It is increasingly filled with commercialism and busy shuffling from place to place.  The night before, the one we always spend together, is what we love the most about the season, and is the only tradition we continually sustain.