It is a funny thing about holiday traditions.

Everyone has their special “things” that they associate with the holidays. Special pies at Thanksgiving. Those sugary jelly-doughnut things (apparently sufganiyot – thanks Google!) at Hanukkah. Chex Mix at Christmas. Champagne at midnight on New Year’s Eve.

Apparently my special holiday traditions and things revolve mostly around food and drink.

Thanksgiving Eve is no exception.

I mused earlier this week that I was a little misty and sad coming up on my last Thanksgiving celebration stateside for probably at least a year. Thanksgiving weekend is kind of a thing with my friends. And by kind of I mean that it is a holiday tradition that has been celebrated for at least 10 years.

I’m a firm believer that you get to choose your family. Not the ones you are born with, but the friends that become your family as you journey through life. If you don’t have friends like that and think I’m a crazy person, then I feel nothing but a deep cloud of pity for you.

Since most of us have lived in Maine our whole lives and not ventured more than a state or two away to live, our actual Turkey Day is generally reserved for family dinners. That is why we celebrate Thanksgiving Eve.

Thanksgiving Eve consists of all of us gathering at a local bar to drinks beer, chat, hug and celebrate friendship for a few hours. In years of our youthful past, it was the anchor leg of a relay drinking weekend that involved shenanigans unsuitable for the daytime blogging audience. You know it is a good time when one of the most fabled stories of the experience involves the phrase “I went on a four-day bender and woke up on Monday with a girlfriend.”

The night builds excitement and anticipation leading up to turkey at midnight.

Because Thanksgiving OBVIOUSLY isn’t Thanksgiving without turkey.

But we don’t do turkey in the conventional way.

No no, based on the brilliance of four guys a few years ago, we began drinking shots of Wild Turkey bourbon at midnight as a celebratory round.

Now Wild Turkey may be good enough for Hunter S. Thompson, but it is a bourbon that I recently characterized as an “esophageal shanking”. There is just no good chaser for Wild Turkey (per my friend Noreen’s brilliance last night!)

Why do we put ourselves through this every year?

It isn’t  that there is some esoteric and profound meaning to pounding back bourbon at 12:01 AM. In fact, I am pretty sure there is nothing that could be remotely considered an esoteric and profound meaning to pounding back bourbon at 12:01 AM.

It is tradition. It is what we do. It is a manifestation of our ridiculous personalities, joking natures and willingness to do crazy things in the name of fun whenever we get together.

It is also probably a bit of an indication of our predilection towards alcohol being involved in many of our gatherings.

I know I’ll get to create all new traditions next year wherever I might be in the world. Many have brought it to my attention that the world will still be spinning on Black Friday (hopefully) if I don’t get Wild Turkey and apple pie with my friends.

But that isn’t the point.

The funny thing about holiday traditions is that they are rarely about things.

And if they are, then you should seriously re-evaluate your priorities in this world.