Washing Dishes Drunk Helped Me Understand Tradition

The Weekly Read #17, "Washing Dishes Drunk Helped Me Understand Tradition"

Traditions have to begin somewhere.

Two weekends ago, while drunkenly washing my dishes by hand, I began my journey of research into where some of the traditions I participate in are from.  Now if my imagination is given the opportunity to roam with focus, I think it’d be content to know that many of the traditions were born in the stars. 

The stars undoubtedly guide us. 

The only question, truly, is how much of a hand did the stars play into the specific working of the world we are currently investigating?  The tradition of washing dishes by hand is one that reminds me of my Mom’s insistence on cleaning in this manner. But before I continue, allow me to tell you how I found myself standing at a sink in San Francisco, washing my plate of vegetables and rice at 2:30 in the morning.

The night’s festivities began with drinking whiskey with my Ninong (Godfather), Cuya Eddy Boy (Uncle), Kuya Braden (Brother), cousin Gabbie, and Ate Mia (Auntie).  Gabbie had come by to pick me up to go to a local bar, but ended up staying and joining in the conversation being as we were in no rush.  It was only ten o’clock in the evening. After a few glasses of cheap, but tasteful Japanese pours, I was feeling wholly warm and giggly.  More warm and giggly than I had expected or planned to in the first place.  Thankfully, our Cuya Eddy Boy came over with the sole intention to drink, so I was comfortable in my state of surprised drunkenness.  As conversations flowed like rivers into the ocean of my Auntie Ying’s San Fransiscan home, my cousin Karena rang the doorbell and floated into the mix.  

My cousins Karena and Gabbie are close. I’d call them best friends.  The two of them suggested that instead of going to the bar, we grab drinks and hit balls at TopGolf.  So we went. For those who don’t know what TopGolf is, TopGolf is a colossal three-story driving range. Unlike any standard driving range I’ve seen, TopGolf’s range is surrounded by skyscraper-tall poles that hold together nets to protect stray golf balls from hitting anything outside the business’ plot of land. Within the boundaries of the nets, the range is made of a gigantic rectangle of green turf about a football field wide and two football fields long. The massive green is decorated by holes that are encircled by different colored and sized rings spanning from the size of a UFO to a baseball pitching mound.  On each level of the building from which you play, there are dozens of symmetrically placed bays. At each bay, the place where you hit the golf balls from, are screens the size of a college kid’s bedroom TV. On these screens, you can select different game modes that change what the holes on the range mean to you and your party of golfers.  Our party chose the game mode where you earn more points by hitting balls as far as you can. 

As we took turns cranking golf balls into the ether, our waiter came by and asked our orders. Gabbie ordered a Sunset Margherita and I ordered a Cool Kidz IPA. Karena, being our designated driver of sobriety for the night, ordered an iced tea and a S’mores Cookie Skillet.  The S’mores Cookie Skillet resembled one of those incredible Pizookies from Pizza Hut.  I worked hard to refrain from participating in the sweet treat. The battle between desires is a fight that happens many times a day, every single day.

In these daily battles, we make choices that ultimately determine the individual we are.  Small moments make up the big picture: every brush stroke a part of our life’s painting.  There are no mistakes. With each action, no matter how minute it may feel in a moment, informs the universe of who we are.  The beautiful thing about this is, we always have a choice as to how we want to respond in the situation we find ourselves in.  We can choose persistence in our cause or we can choose to begin a stride towards a new direction.  Following old traditions or beginning new ones, we make the choice as to how we want to participate in Life. The power lies in our hands.

Between the relentless mental battle of going sugar free for the night and indulging in the skillet of perfectly warm s’mores cookies, I took my turns of walking up to the edge of the concrete slab floor to hit small white balls into the abyss that is the driving range.  Difficulty in accuracy rose and time passed faster as more beer fell to the bottom of my belly.  Before I knew it, our time at TopGolf was up and we were getting back into the car to drop me off at Auntie Ying’s. We listened to Karena’s old MySpace songs as we traversed San Fransisco's narrow lamp-lit streets. Ringing the doorbell at the top of the outdoor stairs, my Kuya warmly welcomed me inside to him and my Ninong playing video games and chatting. As they debated which route to go in Monster Hunter, I began delving into the plastic covered bowls of leftovers from the previous day’s cooking. I spooned out a healthy sized portion of rice, vegetables, and shrimp onto a plate and then nuked the delicious trio for a minute and a half. Now alone, I finished my meal in a rather respectful manner and debated whether or not to wash my dishes or leave it in the sink’s basin for my Auntie Ying to wash in the morning.  My concerns for washing the plate and spoon myself were mainly born from worry that I wouldn’t wash them well enough to meet my Auntie Ying’s standards and laziness.  I decided to just give it a go.  

As my hands joined forces with the soap, sponge, and hot water to scrub the germs off of the plate, my thoughts drifted to a place of tranquil connection.  I saw memories of my Mom as she stood at the sink of our home, cleaning me and my sister’s dishes, the same way my Grandma (her Mom) does for herself every night, too. This simple, but necessary process is a tradition that I realized I have the ability to participate in every single day.  Viewing this act as a tradition, I allow for washing dishes to not be an annoying chore, but a beautiful process I can share in experiencing the way I've watched my Mom and Grandma do so many times.  

Sometimes tradition hides in plain sight, disguised the way a cliché's wisdom is disguised. The answers we seek are often right in front of us. The answers may also be upside down at the end of the book. No peeking, though.

What traditions do you participate in? Do you have any traditions you’d like to start with friends or family?  What’s a good synonym for “beautiful”? Please, message back. Also, please……..

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