The Apple Chucking Ceremony

Every year we follow traditions. We dress up on the 31st. We mash sweet potatoes. We frost cookies.

But one of my favorite traditions involves throwing small, plastic, golden apples directly into our Christmas tree.

My family has completed this tradition every year for as long as I remember. I have absolutely no idea how this tradition started, because as far as I can tell, no one else on the planet does this. As far as I can tell, no one in my family has a significant reason why this is done or what this represents. It’s entirely meaningless.

After stringing lights and garland, hanging ornaments and tinsel, and even after topping the tree with the star, each member of my family takes a turn throwing an apple into the Christmas tree. It’s affectionately called “The Apple Chucking Ceremony.”

Sometimes, the apple doesn’t stay. We might miss, or it might fall through the tree, bouncing on branches on the way down. Some years it takes 3 or 4 throws to get your apple to stay put. Sometimes Rachael pitches overhand. Sometimes Steven swishes it like a basketball player. Sometimes Vincy can’t find his apple after a toss. Every time, mom insists on filming, and we all groan.

“Don’t you guys ever break ornaments?” I get asked when I tell someone about this tradition.

“Oh yeah, all the time. Some years we break three or four. The glass shatter sound always makes us all freeze and then laugh. If we have a year where nothing breaks, we all cheer, but are secretly disappointed.”

“What if you break a fragile, special ornament?”

“That’s not really an issue, because we’ve already broken most of the fragile, special ornaments.”

She looked at me like I was crazy. Her tree had tons of delicate ornaments, some gifted to her by people no longer living. I’d wager she’d be in tears if she broke one of those ornaments.

Don’t get me wrong, we’ve had some ornaments break that made my mom stop and go “oh no! That one was my grandma’s.” We spent some moments being sad that something nice or sentimental broke.

We had moments where something beautiful broke and it was such a shame.

We had so many moments of realizing how delicate and breakable so many things are.

But we had so, so many moments of presence and laughter and joy. My mom always told me the only way for people like us to really be ok is to live in the moment. Live in the now. Be present and mindful.

But around the holidays, this is really, really hard for me and the lack of moment living can make me so blue.

However, during the apple chucking ceremony, I can’t be anywhere but the moment I’m in. I am laughing and screaming and tossing. I am breaking ornaments and going “oh no!” before roaring laughter hits my ears.

You see, the moment is only there when any ornament might break and that’s going to have to be ok.

The lesson is only there when the splendid sound of glass shattering rings through the air.

Because everything in life shatters like a delicate ornament.

Nothing is permanent. Someday, everything I love will cease to exist. Every person I love will die, even people who were never supposed to die. Every place I love will eventually crumble or be bulldozed. Every beautiful, sentimental item, will break into pieces or worse, be forgotten. You can pretend it’s not true all you want… but it is.

Breaking is a fact of life.

We can gently and gingerly place our lives on the tree and growl at anyone who gets too close, or we can gather as a family and launch small, plastic, golden grenades into the Christmas tree. We can refuse to accept that things break, or we can say “oh no! That makes me sad!” and then decide that it just has to be ok and it was so worth all the fun.

Maybe I’m rambling. But I bet Matt would like it.

“Do you think we can find some golden apples for our tree?” I asked the man I’m marrying.

He said yes but asked if we should take off the delicate ornaments before chucking.

“We can. But I think it’s best when you leave them on and cross your fingers.”

How funny that this meaningless, borderline destructive, and crazy tradition brought me more comfort this year than any nativity scene, star on top, or Christmas carol ever could.
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