Every year, people ask what traditions make the holidays meaningful. I used to dodge the question with humor—but over time, I’ve found a quieter answer. This one’s for the friends we’ve lost, the ones we hold close, and the little rituals that keep us connected.
Do you have a special tradition that captures the spirit of the season?
Maybe it’s a favorite movie, volunteering at the food bank, opening gifts on Christmas Eve, or celebrating Hanukkah with family.
I used to love watching Die Hard—one of my favorite holiday traditions, if you can call it that. Not for the witty one-liners, but for Alan Rickman as Hans Gruber. He was magnetic, smooth, and just the right kind of villain. He made the movie for me, and somehow, it always felt like the perfect way to welcome the holidays.
Several years ago, someone asked me what my holiday tradition was.
I’m a writer—why tell the truth when you can make up a story? So, with a straight face, I said, “Oh, I go down and help the less fortunate at the food bank.”
They smiled and thanked me for supporting the community.
The problem? I hadn’t done that. Not once.
I walked away feeling a little guilty. It wasn’t their reaction that got me—it was realizing how easily I could’ve just… done it. Instead, I’d used humor to dodge the question. That moment stuck with me longer than I expected.
Have I changed since then? Not exactly. I still haven’t volunteered or donated a turkey or made any grand gestures. But I did start thinking about what I could do—something that mattered in my own way.
I’ve given the old guy on the corner a sack of Taco Time food. The woman who talks to herself down the block, a bucket of chicken. I drop off canned goods at the food bank—usually before they expire.
And what I do consistently is vote.
For higher wages.
For stronger unions.
For funding schools so kids can eat breakfast and lunch.
For shelter programs and support for the workers who kept communities running through the pandemic.
It might not be a popular way to give, but it’s one that reaches farther than I ever could alone. I pay my taxes—sometimes through gritted teeth—but I remind myself those dollars help fund teachers, firefighters, EMTs, and 911 dispatchers. That’s community, too. They help in ways I can’t do on my own.
Still, I sometimes feel selfish for choosing time with my family over direct service. But maybe part of giving back is showing up for the people right in front of us.
As for my own tradition—it’s a little unconventional.
In memory of my father, my mother, my friend Hank, and my cousins Jim and Glen, who all left before their time, I gather with friends and family outside. We light a small fire, pour a bit of whiskey, and smoke cigars. The air smells of wood smoke and tobacco, and the whiskey warms from the inside out.
It’s quiet, imperfect, and honest—just how I like it. The time you have is fleet of foot, and you have to make the moments count.
What about you? What traditions—big or small, conventional or not—make the holidays yours?
So here’s to that.
Cheers to ships
not wooden ships, for those ships may sink.
We cheer to friendships, those are the best ships.
And to those ships, we drink.
Cheers,
Dennis
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Author Note:
Dennis D. Montoya is a fantasy and literary fiction writer exploring themes of memory, resilience, and connection. You can find more of his work at DennisDMontoya.com.
Call to Action:
✨ Share your holiday tradition or reflection in the comments below—what makes the season meaningful to you?
Dennis D Montoya 