Facing opposing family values this holiday season

I often dread this moment yet for years I’ve been an integral part of it. The family is gathered, a warm, festive air fills the room and the place is adorned with twinkling lights and holiday decorations reflecting the joyous spirit of the season in Turkey. Everyone is comfortably seated, engaging in light-hearted conversation, their laughter mingling with the soft melodies of traditional Turkish music playing in the background. They are not just chatting but also waiting, eagerly anticipating the familiar comforts of snacks and drinks. The snack varies, sometimes nuts, sometimes fruits and, on lucky occasions, the sweet, honey-laden layers of baklava, a delightful treat reminiscent of Turkish generosity.

But in Turkey, the drink is always the same, a constant in the ever-changing tapestry of our gatherings—Turkish tea, also known as ”çay.”

In every household in Turkey, or at least in my eleven years of experience with my Turkish-American husband, I have witnessed this ritual. The woman of the house carries a tray full of hourglass-shaped tea glasses, each brimming with piping hot tea, brewed to a perfect reddish tint, resembling the rich, deep color of “rabbit’s blood”—a traditional Turkish description for tea. A classic move that’s imbued with years of Turkish culture and custom. It’s a sight that warms the heart, the steam dancing above the glasses in the cool winter air.

As she enters, there’s a subtle shift in the room. The other women, in an unspoken but well-rehearsed routine, assess who among them is the youngest. They gently scramble to relieve the older woman of the tray, a silent testament to respect and care ingrained in our traditions. The men, absorbed in their conversations, seem oblivious to this delicate dance of courtesy happening before them. It’s fascinating to witness this tradition persist, unchallenged even among the progressive men in my husband’s family.

This year, my journey to Turkey is different—I am a mother of two young boys. With a one-year-old and a three-year-old in tow, I realize they are now at an age where they are observant, absorbing social cues previously unnoticed. They are learning from the unspoken norms and lessons we adults unconsciously enact every day. It’s a pivotal moment for me as a mother.

As I watch my boys, their eyes wide with curiosity and wonder, I ponder the lessons they’re learning. What do I, as their mother, do when the values and norms we encounter, even within our family, clash with those I wish to impart to them? How do I navigate this rich tapestry of culture and tradition, extracting the beauty and wisdom while gently guiding them towards values of equality and progressiveness?

At the moment, I don’t have to make a decision. I have spoken to my husband beforehand and we have decided to disrupt tradition. But I’m nervous, not sure he will remember our conversation. Then as she comes in with the tea, he stands, reaching for the tray, offering a smile to his mother. Pleasantly surprised, my mother-in-law laughs, hands him the tray and takes her seat. He looks around and offers tea to the guests. It is a small but powerful gesture. I pray my boys are seeing and learning from their father. I hope to teach my boys the importance of breaking norms, of participating in traditions while also shaping them. 

Their little eyes follow his every move. This is about more than just serving drinks, it’s about setting an example, about showing our children that traditions are living, breathing entities, evolving as we do.

As the night unfolds, filled with warmth and laughter, I feel a sense of contentment. Maybe this holiday season, amidst the familiar rituals, we’re starting new ones, subtly weaving the values of today into the rich fabric of our heritage. It’s a delicate balance, but one I’m eager to explore, one holiday and one cup of tea at a time.