The Kitchen Playground

A Christmas tradition has morphed in our family. The tradition of the Christmas potato. My paternal grandmother would always warn us of the relative in days of yore (can’t remember who he was) who was a naughty little boy and received nothing but a sack of potatoes from Santa. That was the ‘be good’ threat that my father and his sister and myself and my siblings were raised on. Be good or all you’ll get is a sack of potatoes.

Last year in a fit of disciplinary desperation, the very same threat fell out of my mouth in the direction of First Born who had recently turned three. What I didn’t take into account was his inordinate love of food. A sack of potatoes was not a threat, it was a tantalising promise. If he was well behaved and told that he would be getting presents rather than a sack of potatoes, he would collapse into tears and beg for the potatoes. He’s a great kid and generally very well behaved so what were we to do? The only thing we could do, we included a potato in his Santa sack. He was absolutely delighted.

This year, he has just turned four and is much more savvy to the commercial aspects of Christmas. He appreciates that a sack of potatoes is not quite the haul his heart desires but still..potatoes…yum. So both the Ankle Biters received a potato in their Santa Sacks again this year. In both cases, the potato was met with delight. First Born actually requested his potato baked with butter and cheese on top for Christmas dinner. I had to oblige. Second born had the same but only managed to finish half so First Born polished off her’s as well.

And thus a punitive tradition morphs into something altogether different. The joy of the Christmas potato. I hope I never forget to throw one in the Santa sacks and I hope the Ankle Biters never cease to delight in their potato. Whether for the sake of the potato itself or the warmth of family tradition.

Merry Christmas to you all, with or without potatoes.

Tags: Christmas, Potato, Tradition