Human traditions are weird. Not mildly odd. Not quirky. Full-on bizarre. The moment most people notice it is childhood, when someone explains that a rabbit delivers eggs. A rabbit. Delivering eggs. Not chickens. Not farmers. A bunny with a basket like some woodland courier service. And the wildest part isn’t the rabbit. It’s the fact that millions of adults nod along like this makes perfect sense. That’s when the gears start turning.

Then December rolls around and things really go off the rails. Suddenly there’s an invisible, bearded guy breaking into houses through a chimney that many homes don’t even have. He somehow visits millions of houses in a single night with a sleigh powered by flying deer. And everyone just shrugs and says, “Magic.” Parents build an entire intelligence operation around maintaining the lie. Cookies left out. Footprints in flour. Sleigh bells in the hallway. It’s like a seasonal CIA psy-op run by exhausted adults.

Valentine’s Day shows up next with a flying baby carrying a weapon. Not a toy bow. A literal arrow. The tiny diapered sniper shoots people and suddenly they fall in love. Nobody pauses to question why romance apparently involves being ambushed by a cherub armed like a medieval hunter. Instead we buy heart-shaped chocolate and overpriced roses and play along like Cupid is just part of the ecosystem.

And it keeps going. Leprechauns hoarding gold. Groundhogs predicting weather. Tooth fairies running some kind of black-market enamel exchange under pillows. At some point humanity just agreed that imagination plus sugar equals tradition. No committee meeting. No debate. We just collectively leaned into the absurd and decided to pass it down for centuries.

Here’s the strange truth though. These traditions survive because people secretly enjoy the nonsense. Adults know the stories are ridiculous. Kids eventually figure it out. Yet the rituals stick around because they give life texture. A little shared absurdity turns ordinary seasons into something memorable. Humanity might be irrational, theatrical, and occasionally ridiculous, but those strange rituals are proof we still know how to play.

The real tradition isn’t Santa or the Easter Bunny. It’s the annual human decision to suspend logic for a few days and enjoy the chaos. And honestly, that might be the most human thing we do.

Final line:

Humanity may not always make sense, but we sure know how to commit to the bit.

Eric Foltin

Ordained Pastafarian minister. Spy vs. Spy fiend. Tech-tinkering, people-dodging geocacher with punk roots and hard-earned dev chops.