Bending Tradition
When an Italian-Canadian girl faces changes to her cultural traditions, she grapples with the challenge of preserving her heritage while embracing the influence of the modern world.
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The scent of melted cheese and roasted toppings waft through the car, a tantalizing preview of the feast to come. Six large Santa Ana pizzas, their boxes warm to the touch, are snugly buckled in the back seat.
As we pull up to Isaiah’s house, the windows glow with warmth. Devyn swoops in, arms ready to embrace the pizzas, while I hoist the gifts over my shoulder feeling every bit like a modern-day Santa Claus.
The excitement is palpable, crackling in the air like static electricity. Inside, the table at the bottom of the staircase stands as our holiday altar.
More than just a surface for our steaming pizzas and cold drinks, it’s the heart of our first Friendsmas celebration.
Our Friendsmas wasn’t about replacing our traditional family gatherings — it was an extension of them, a way to celebrate with those who feel like home. An article from December 2024 from the University of Birmingham suggests friendships become more significant in people’s lives, often providing emotional bonds similar to those traditionally associated with family. Whether with friends or family, food is often at the heart of people’s gathering rituals.
Traditions have long been the heartbeat of family gatherings, the foundation upon which memories are built. For me, they’ve always been defined by what I know — shared meals, well-worn rituals, and the timeless presence of loved ones. But in recent years, I’ve been forced to confront the uneasy tension between old traditions and new, as digital culture shifts how I think about food and celebrations. There is a delicate balance between holding on to tradition and embracing new forms of connection, particularly through social media platforms like TikTok.
While I feel pressure to preserve traditional family customs, I’m also influenced by the food and cultural content I engage with on social media. The new modes I’m encountering don’t replace tradition — they create avenues to re-imagine what tradition can look like.
As the world becomes more interconnected, I am confronted with questions: Can tradition withstand the forces of change? Must it evolve into something completely new?
I tell myself traditions evolve, and they expand rather than disappear — but deep down, I can’t shake the feeling that change is a quiet erasure. I grew up woven so deeply into my family that the thought of change feels like unraveling a part of myself. If I let go of too much, will I recognize what’s left? Or worse— will my past recognize me?
I open the back door and shout, “I’m here.”
The moment I step into my Nonna and Nonno’s house, a comforting scent pulls me back in time, frying oil and tomato sauce, something rich and warm simmering in the air.
In the mid-1960s, my Nonno Angelo and Nonna Giovanna immigrated to Canada from Calabria, Italy, carrying with them cherished traditions and memories.
“Hi,” my Nonno yells from the kitchen table, where he’s deep into a game of Solitaire with Scopa cards. I shed my coat on a dining room chair and head down to the basement where the blue-green carpeted steps grow colder, and the smell of homemade cooking intensifies.
My Nonna and Nonno’s basement was my childhood haven, filled with love, laughter and old Italian records. The space was the setting for the movies my cousins and I made as kids. The burnt orange crushed velvet couch hugged me as I fell deeply into its cushions for naps.
Though some traditions faded, we still gather here. Today, the room is filled with the same scent of tomato sauce.
I find Nonna in the basement kitchen, apron on, turning over fried zucchini fritters in a pool of hot oil. Her cooking requires no recipe card; it’s a dance of instinct and love.
“Need any help?” I ask. She shakes her head, handing me a bowl of steaming broccoli to take upstairs.
Top Right: My cousins and I celebrating my Nonno and Nonna’s anniversary (L to R: Samuel, Olivier, Me, Nonna Giovanna, Nonno Angelo, Ava, Elisa, and Luca)
My Nonna’s kitchen has always been a second home, filled with the hum of chatter and the clatter of dishes. It’s soothing knowing what to expect.
I have four cousins on my mom’s side, all younger than me, and we’ve always been like siblings to each other. Between weekends at the cottage, endless sleepovers, and holiday gatherings stretching late into the night, we are inseparable.
We have our usual spots at Nonna’s kitchen table. Nonna knows who likes which fork and who won’t eat beans. We linger there for hours, laughing and raising our voices until our moms snap at us to quiet down. My cousins and I are tangled in inside jokes and half-finished stories. A sense of knowing is deep within me — they’ll always be there, and there will always be more memories to make.
Now that we are older, when my cousins and I gather at Nonna and Nonno’s, we naturally fall into the same traditions. There’s comfort in the repetition. Part of me feels like no matter how much the world shifts, Nonna’s house will always be there, unchanged. Another part of me knows that things will change.
Nonna and Nonna won’t be around forever.
I wonder if holding on too tightly means missing something else. Can tradition bend and shift?
Change makes me feel uneasy, like a pebble disrupting still water. But as the ripples settle, something beautiful may emerge. Holding onto this perspective helps me navigate life’s shifts with an open heart.
Scrolling through social media, I often find posts from others celebrating traditions similar to mine. At first I was shocked to discover that my family wasn’t the only one. Seeing extended families gathering around a table that looked like Nonna’s and eating the same dishes we eat felt strange. But as I engage with these intimate moments that strangers shared, I felt a sense of connection. Our traditions may be deeply personal, but they also unite us across distances.
When these moments appear on my For You Page, I appreciate the deeper connection I share with the people who posted them. They show me how traditions, while deeply personal, highlight the power of community.
Social media has shaken up the way I engage with traditions. TikTok is no longer just a collection of viral dances and challenges, it’s a space where traditions are re-imagined and shared.
Social media inspires and provides easy access to new ideas. I have found myself scrolling, saving videos, and recreating trends. During the COVID-19 lockdown, isolated and bored, I got into the whipped coffee phenomenon. My feed was flooded with silky peaks of caramel-coloured foam, something I couldn’t resist trying. I leapt out of bed, rummaged through the cupboards for Dallmayr, German instant coffee, and whipped up my own frothy cup. The focus extended beyond the coffee itself; the real joy was belonging to something larger — a community of millions, all experimenting, and sharing over a cup of coffee.
Social media gives me a sense of belonging. Even now, I find comfort in knowing that millions of others made whipped coffee during lockdown. I feel a deep connection when I watch videos of Italian families coming together for Italian Sunday dinner — where they feast on homemade pasta, rich sauces, and stories or enjoying a typical Saturday morning. It reminds me that I belong to something bigger, no matter where I am.
Social media is reshaping how we share and sustain traditions. Platforms like TikTok offer new ways to keep them alive. Sarah Howe, from TASTE Winnipeg — a custom catering and event planning company — reminded me, “Tradition is a meaningful representation of shared experience, something you look forward to doing together, over and over, that everyone can contribute to.” Social media doesn’t replace in-real-life experiences, but it amplifies them, making them easier to share, explore, and reinterpret.
TikTok clips showcasing unique holiday rituals and POV videos offering intimate glimpses into tradition reveal and record how customs are evolving. These videos blend the old with the new, and help us find connection.
The positive impact of social media on culture and traditions can feel like a paradox. Social media both preserves and transforms. On one hand, it allows people to share, celebrate, and pass down traditions more widely than ever before, strengthening cultural connections. On the other hand, the very act of digitizing and sharing traditions can change them — turning intimate rituals into trends, altering their meanings, or making them feel performative rather than authentic.
Christmas Eve always felt like stepping into a storybook at Oma and Nonno’s house, nestled on a quiet, tree-canopied street in Wolseley. The moment we arrived, the glow of their home welcomed us — a soft, golden light spilling through the windows, framed by delicate eggshell arches. Inside, the air was rich with warmth, the scent of pine mingling with a shrimp and scallop soup simmering in the kitchen. The Christmas tree stood tall, its multicolored lights casting a kaleidoscope of colour against the walls, wrapping the room in a kind of magic that felt both timeless and unshakable.
In the mid-1960s, my Oma Inge journeyed from Bavaria, Germany, to start a new life in Canada, and my Nonno Rocco made a similar voyage from Basilicata, Italy.
My Oma’s veranda was always dressed for the season, strands of blue and white twinkling lights draped across the golden wood cladding of the ceiling. On the windowsill, a small porcelain gift bag sat filled to the brim with candy canes. My brother and I would sneak them before dinner, the cool peppermint dissolving on our tongues as we exchanged mischievous grins.
One of our favourite traditions was the hiding of the pickle — a tiny, shimmering glass ornament shaped like a dill pickle, nestled deep within the tree’s branches. A German custom, Oma had told us, where the first to find it would be blessed with good fortune for the year ahead. My brother and I took turns tucking it away, each trying to make it more difficult than the last.
“Time to eat!” My dad’s voice rang from the kitchen, a cue that the feast of seven fishes was ready.
The dining room, with its dark cherry wood table stretched to seat 11, felt regal in its holiday attire. A red-lace tablecloth was draped elegantly over the table, with delicate name cards resting at each China place setting. At the centre, an advent wreath flickered softly, its four candles casting a gentle glow over the room.
Oma, sitting at the head of the table, raised her glass, her eyes twinkling with the same warmth as the lights around us.
“Buon Appetito, Guten Appetit,” she said, her voice wrapping around the room like an embrace.
And just like that, another Christmas Eve began—woven with tradition, laughter, and the quiet kind of joy that lingers long after the night is over.
Top Left: Oma Inge, Nonno Rocco, Luca, and Me
I’ll never forget our last Christmas at Oma and Nonno’s house in December 2022. For as long as I can remember, their home wasn’t just the setting for Christmas, but for Easter, Thanksgiving, birthdays — the family gatherings that stitched our lives together. But as time moves forward, so do we. We no longer have family meals at their home. We’ve shifted locations to make things easier for them in their old age, but the heart of our traditions remains the same.
I’ve come to realize traditions don’t disappear — they evolve. Now, we gather at my aunt’s house for Christmas or mine for Easter. It feels different, a little unfamiliar, but that’s okay. Because what matters most isn’t the place — it’s the people, the memories we make, and the love we share.
One year for Christmas, my mom handed me a homemade bound book titled Nonna’s Way, which is filled with family favourite recipes from my Nonna. Holding it, I felt a lump in my throat. It wasn’t just a collection of dishes; it was a piece of my Nonna’s kitchen, a tangible connection to her warmth, her laughter, the way she moved effortlessly between pots and pans. Flipping through the pages, I saw the recipe for her zucchini fritters — the one that fills her house with an aroma so rich, I swear I could smell it just by reading the ingredients. I’m thankful I can recreate these dishes whenever I want.
My favourite comfort meal, pastina, sometimes called Italian penicillin, was a staple throughout my childhood, and still is today. Now I can choose between making Nonna’s recipes or a plethora of videos online showing people creating their own versions of pastina — some look intriguing enough to try.
Nonna’s recipe book and her famous Zucchini Fritters recipe
If you don’t have a Nonna whispering secret family recipes in your ear like I do, you can find a Nonna on social media to pass on their traditions, food, and warmth.
As I reflect on this uneasy tension between the past and the present, I realize that change does not have to mean loss. My family’s traditions have adapted to the rhythms of our modern lives. Tradition isn’t about rigidly preserving the past. I want my traditions to combine nostalgia, modern influence, and togetherness. Whether around my Nonna’s kitchen table or a crowded fold-out card table with friends, the purpose remains the same — to gather, create, and belong. I don’t have to choose between old and new. I’m learning to weave them together.
As our first Friendsmas unfolded, our little group of nine huddled together, shoulder to shoulder. The room buzzed with laughter and animated conversation. This was more than just a gathering; it was a shared experience, a testament to my bonus family, the family I had chosen.
