Judy Lee Dunn | Writer | Blogger

Mama was Swedish through and through, so Christmas Eve was big at our house. Dinner was always lutfisk, the most disgusting of the Swedish Christmas Eve traditions. It had a smell all its own: a cross between rotten fish and the Borax soap Daddy washed his hands in after a day’s work at the cement plant. I learned that breathing through my mouth would ward off some of the stench.

Mama said good Swedes pronounced it “loot-uh-fisk,” which I figured must be Swedish for poison. When it was done cooking, it resembled a big hunk of slimy jello. Mama sprinkled some allspice on top, which she said brought out all the good flavors.

Lutfisk is aged in lye, which the Encyclopedia Britannica said was a chemical used to make cleaning products. It said it burns the skin unless people use goggles and gloves. And that, it should be stored in air-tight containers, with a skull-and-crossbones picture on it. (Except, I supposed, when you were soaking lutfisk in it.)

I guessed that Christmas traditions were okay, but why couldn’t ours match the rest of the planet’s or the kids in my second grade class—or at least the Jones family across the road?

I first began to notice the differences at about age four, when Mama read ‘Twas the Night Before Christmas to me.  It was clear from this poem that Santa was supposed to arrive on the night before Christmas, not a week early, like he did at our house. This seemed a little suspicious to me.

When I asked Mama, she brushed my question aside, as if our slightly off-kelter traditions were not open to debate. And besides, she said, it’s clearly impossible for Santa to deliver those presents to all those houses in just one night. This way, he can spread them out.

When I was small, this made perfect sense to me, though, still, I wondered how he kept all the houses and times straight—and how he knew ours was the Swedish house.

Early one Christmas season, when I was eight, I confronted Mama. “You know, ” I said, twirling a lock of hair until it bounced back, like it was spring-loaded, “some kids open their presents on Christmas morning. We could try it for a change. Just this year?” I studied Mama’s face.

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