Since many of my family’s traditions center on food it’s natural that one of my father’s holiday rituals was making pizza. The pizza was a late addition to the holiday traditions; it started in the early 90’s when, for the first time in years, my brother, sister and I were all able to make it to my father’s for the holidays.
The plan was to spend Christmas Eve and Christmas morning with my dad and then see my mother and the rest of the family on Christmas day. My father had been working too much to plan a full dinner so he suggested making pizza as a last-minute solution and this was fine with us. The dough was ready by the time we arrived and we made pizza together while we listened to Christmas music. After eating what we had made we opened a few small gifts and then headed to bed. It may sound lame to you but we had fun, so much that we did it the next Christmas Eve, the one after that and so on.
Eventually, my brother, sister and I all moved to far away places and while a we all made it home for a few holidays we never all made it home at the same time. My father would still make pizza for whichever one of us was home and if none of us could be there, he’d make it anyway and call us to tell us how it was going.
My father is no longer with us and my wife and I are spending a quiet Christmas at our home in Los Angeles; while my wife knows almost all of my family stories I have never told her about making pizza on Christmas Eve.
When I got home from work on Wednesday my wife suggested that we make pizza on Christmas Eve. I said I thought that was a great idea. Sometimes she does great things without even knowing it.