American Tradition

Whenever I see the richness of cultural traditions in other countries, I lament the fact that Americans have nothing. We’re such a melting pot that our one claim of cultural identity is to sit on the couch on a Sunday in late January with piles and piles of food and beer and scream at the TV while 22 grown men attempt to demolish each other. Oh, and the commercials. Yes, American tradition consists of Super Bowl commercials. I suppose you should add baseball to the list. After being tied to the Fall Classic this year because of my time in Kansas City, and seeing the entire city rally behind their boys in blue, we definitely claim baseball. But when you compare that to the elaborate costumes, recipes, liturgies, dances of almost every other culture in the world, you realize that we care much more about capitalism than tradition.

However, I’ve come to realize lately that there is one thing we should claim proudly. S’mores. Hear me out. Regardless of how often your family camped growing up, chances are you are well versed in the art of browning (or burning) marshmallows over a fire, carefully balancing the chocolate and graham cracker on your knee, or a tree stump, or picnic table, and then gooing up your fingers to complete the masterpiece. Everyone has their own style—finding the perfect s’mores stick, one or two mallows, the cracker to chocolate ratio, the technique (I’m a slow and even, golden-brown kind of girl. Michelle is definitely a scorch and run).

It’s something so innate that I’ve never thought about the fact that it’s a uniquely American practice. Michelle went to Nicaragua this summer and the group made their hosts an “American” dinner (think Thanksgiving, which I suppose is another tally in the win column) complete with s’mores. Padre Simon was incredulous…“You mean you light a fire for no reason? In the summer? Just for fun?” After being introduced to this shining example of American culture, he promptly ate five.

Fire just for fun

I also had the chance this summer to take this tradition to the limit—s’mores more abundant. At Camp Wojtyla, John 10:10 stands as a reminder that Christ came for us to live life to the full, every aspect of life. Even s’mores. So one night during the week, we traipse up to the fire pit with boxes and boxes of candy bars—Twix, Reese’s, Snickers, of course Hershey, even Starburst—and spend the night taxing our pancreases.

So someone remind me, the next time I lament of our tradition-poor consumeristic American lives, of Padre Simon and Twix-marshmallow heaven, and standing under the stars, with a fire “just for fun”, living life to the full.

Perfection