The Christmas of 2000-something: sage and tradition

Editor’s Note: As part of a practicum assignment, students were asked to reflect on their favorite Christmas memories. This series, written in a more personal style, captures the unique moments and traditions that make the holiday season special.

The smell of sage filled the house as Mom whisked the eggs for her famous Christmas Brunch.

The kitchen buzzed with activity—my mom, aunt, and I cooking side by side, laughter bubbling up as we tasted and adjusted recipes. The sage was our not-so-secret ingredient, but it made everything feel uniquely ours.

Christmas mornings in our overflowing Southern home were always loud, chaotic, and filled with love.

That year, 2000-something, was my favorite Christmas. I was about eight years old, and although I do not remember a single gift I received, I vividly recall the feeling of togetherness.

My large family gathered under one roof: 2½ sets of grandparents, three aunts, three uncles, ten cousins, my parents, and my younger brother.

The house brimmed with energy as my older cousins whispered secrets about presents, their giggles echoing down the hall.

The Christmas tree, practically overtaking the living room, was buried under piles of colorful gifts.

By midmorning, the aroma of brunch wafted through the house, mingling with the joyful chaos of conversations.

Plates clinked, and voices—each louder than the next—filled the air. “Now, Alyssa baby, do not touch the chocolate pie until after brunch!” my grandmother would jokingly scorn, sneaking it into the house as if it were a treasure.

I was a thief for that pie, and it had to be hidden until dessert.

After we cooked, my female cousins and I would escape to my room to chat about celebrity crushes.

That year, the big debate raged: Harry Styles from One Direction or Carlos PenaVega from Big Time Rush. I defended Carlos with all my might.

Meanwhile, my brother and the boys huddled in his room, discussing Sonic the Hedgehog and Teletubbies.

Finally, brunch was served. Tradition dictated that Mom, our lead chef, got the first plate and a glass of wine—a mystery to me then but one I now deeply appreciate after years of early-morning holiday cooking.

We crowded into the dining room, laughing and reaching across the table for biscuits and turkey. The sage-scented dishes disappeared in minutes.

With brunch over, the main event began. The family moved from the dining room to the living room, with stragglers lingering in the kitchen.

Secret Santa gifts were exchanged, and each person received 3 to 5 presents.

The house buzzed with excitement as wrapping paper flew and laughter erupted with each unwrapped surprise.

As I grew older, our traditions evolved. Cousins got married, grandparents began visiting the youngest family members, and new traditions took root.

Still, nothing compares to the rush of that Christmas Day, surrounded by family, sage-scented brunch, and the love that filled every corner of the house.