Runners-Up, 2003 Edition

Submitted by David Gratton

Our tradition is very simple. It started seven years ago; however, it didn't start as a tradition, but rather as a way to ensure that my father would actually live to see another Christmas. You see my father is French Canadian, and my mother is anglaise. Every Christmas Eve my English mother makes French Canadian tourtiere from a recipe passed down on my father's side of the family. And every Christmas Eve, my father stands over my mother sticking his fingers into her cooking saying, "Claudia, it needs more allspice. Claudia, just a touch more cinnamon. Claudia, are you sure you really want to use so many potatoes?" One particular Christmas Eve, my mother turned to me. I was, naturally, standing well away from the epicenter of the kitchen. My mother gave me a look. Not a pleading look, but rather a look that said, "Take a good look at your father, for this will be the last time you ever see him without a cast-iron frying pan protruding from his forehead." I had to get my father out of the kitchen. No, out of the house! Naturally, he protested when I suggested we go for a walk outside. It was cold, and obviously my mother needed his help preparing the tourtiere. Fortunately, I know my father, so I produced a hip flask of good Cognac, and two cigars - the large ones to ensure my mother had time to finish her work. With accessories in hand, my father and I stepped into the winter air for our first of many Christmas Eve walks filled with conversation as rich as my mother's hot pies.