My family is very small, and our traditions are few. We do not feel the same holiday cheer that other families do since our get-togethers are not enough to fill all of the seats at the kitchen table. Still, we celebrate the things we love. My family is from Nicaragua, so we do not celebrate things like Cinco de Mayo or Día de los Muertos. I have never participated in Las Posadas, but I have clapped along to songs of praise at La Purísima my family hosts every year in honor of La Inmaculada Concepción de María. I am not sure how to define the celebration because I have seen it done two different ways, so I
will instead describe my experiences:
          Nicaragua: The best way to imagine the celebrations of La Purísima in Nicaragua is to think of what would happen if Halloween and Christmas were merged together. La Purísima is honored on December 7th, and the celebrations begin once the sun goes down. The custom is for a family to go door to door to sing praise to nearby altars, which other families have put on as public displays for all people to enjoy. There will usually be several families worshipping an altar at the same time, and everybody takes part in reciting a short prayer and singing a few songs. There is always one person who yells, ¿Quién causa tanta alegría? to which everybody responds, ¡La concepción de María! The host family then brings out goodies to share. The modest gifts are things like a pound of beans, a pound of rice, or a pound of cane sugar that the families can use at home. There are other families who give away rosaries, saint bracelets, and prayer books. The homes that all kids look forward to are the ones that give away all kinds of toys. The crowds of carolers begin to settle down at around midnight, and that is when a group of teenagers will light up for a fireworks show. When the fireworks show is over, someone will yell, ¿Quién causa tanta alegría? to which everyone will respond, ¡La concepción de María! before they make their way home.
          This celebration is beautiful, but we are unable to have them here in the United States. The Nicaraguan communities in Los Angeles are small and spread out, so there is no way the door-to-door celebrations could take place. There are many families that host their own celebrations of La Purísima and will invite their family and friends to attend, but it’s very easy to miss those.
          United States: My maternal grandfather’s family has set up an altar for worship in their home for over 85 years. My extended family celebrates their own version of La Purísima every first Saturday of December. We make our way to what used to be my abuelito’s house (now my great tía Haydee’s house) in outfits better than our Sunday’s best, and prepare ourselves for the “Wow! You are much taller than what I remember!” and the “Who are you dating now? When are you getting married?” that never fails. We enjoy traditional foods and drinks that some relative has brought back from their most recent trip to Nicaragua for us to enjoy. We then make our way to the living room where there are over 100 seats set up theatre-style, all facing the altar dedicated to our beloved Virgen de Concepción. Arnulfo, one of my mother’s many cousins, will start by leading us through a rosary prayer (and like the good Catholic I was raised to be, I recite the entire thing without making a conscious effort to think about what I am saying). We then start singing the songs of praise; and since we are not traveling from door to door, we sing most of them right then and there. When the songs are over, my tía Haydee’s favorite nieces (my tía Marta y my mami) bring out trays of nacatamales (traditional Nicaraguan tamales) for everyone to have for dinner. My cousin Maryem comes around and passes out bracelets to the little girls and miniature racecars to the little boys and her father, my tío José, hands out rosaries and prayer books to everyone. I go to my tía Haydee’s room to grab a box of goodies, and begin handing out bags full of several fruits to everyone. My mami joins me and hands out plastic cups with images of la Virgen de Concepción printed on them. They are filled with all sorts of candy – everyone is eager to get one, but of course there are perks to being related to the person who is handing them out (you have taught me the art of hiding my second cup without getting caught, thanks mother). My great aunt hands out baked goods – yummy empanadas filled with pollo desmenusado or, if we’re lucky, guayaba, and candied yams too. My tío José always comes around to make the same joke he does every year: What would you like to drink, kid? We have Budweiser in the cooler, but I can bring you some of my Heineken if you’d like! My mami sometimes gets upset when she hears this, but I have never understood why because she is the one who always brings me a shot of rompope (our version of eggnog; milk and cinnamon stick boiled in a saucer, shots of rum added afterwards). As the night progresses, the crowd becomes smaller and smaller. Soon, members of my more immediate family are the only ones left, and they begin exchanging stories of the adventure they have embarked on in the past year. It is at this point in the night when I regret bringing along the boyfriend who is about to hear an embarrassing story of my childhood if not another. After several exclamations of ¿Quién causa tanta alegría?, we leave Pasadena, California with new memories that will last us at least the year it will take to come up with a few more.