THE MIDNIGHT TOAST: A FAMILY TRADITION THAT BRIDGES PAST AND PRESENT

It started more than 25 years ago when my oldest daughter was just a toddler. My wife and I were new parents, figuring out life with diapers, bottles, and sleepless nights. That year, New Year’s Eve wasn’t about parties or late nights—it was about staying home, watching Dick Clark’s “New Year’s Rockin’ Eve,” and enjoying the quiet simplicity of a celebration that wouldn’t keep us up until midnight.

Living in the central time zone made it even easier. We could toast the New Year when the ball dropped in New York at 11 PM, sip cheap Kroger champagne, and still be in bed before midnight. It wasn’t glamorous, but as exhausted parents, it was perfect.

Our daughter, however, had overheard us talking about “the midnight toast” earlier that day. She was fascinated by the phrase and kept repeating it in her toddler way: “Midnight toast! Midnight toast!” She had no idea what it meant, but it stuck with her.

That night, she didn’t make it past her usual bedtime. While she slept, we toasted the New Year at 11 PM, clinking our plastic champagne flutes and feeling proud of our small accomplishment. But as the cheers from the TV and our laughter filled the room, our daughter woke up and wandered into the living room.

Bleary-eyed, she looked at us, confused. “Where’s the midnight toast?” she asked.

We laughed, realizing she had misunderstood. She wasn’t expecting a champagne toast but an actual toast. Cinnamon toast, to be exact.

So, we went into the kitchen. We pulled out bread, butter, cinnamon, and sugar, and within minutes, the warm, comforting smell of cinnamon toast filled the house. She sat at the table, happily nibbling on her “midnight toast” while we laughed at the sweet simplicity of it all.

That was the night a tradition was born. Every New Year’s Eve, after that, we made cinnamon toast, raisin toast, buttered toast, and jelly toast. It didn’t matter what kind, as long as it was toast. It became something we looked forward to, something uniquely ours.

Even after my divorce, the tradition never stopped. Both households kept it alive, and as our kids grew into adults and started their lives, the midnight toast remained. Now, every New Year’s Eve, no matter where we are, there’s always a text, a picture, or a phone call featuring a slice of cinnamon toast.

For me, it’s more than just toast—it’s a way of staying connected to a part of my past. It’s a reminder of the years when we were all together, of the laughter we shared over something as simple as bread and cinnamon sugar. It’s a small tradition but carries a weight of love, nostalgia, and hope for the year ahead.

So this New Year’s Eve, I’ll make my toast again, just as I have for more than 25 years. It’s my way of celebrating the New Year while staying tied to a tradition that has meant so much to me and my family. And maybe, wherever they are, my kids will be doing the same—raising a slice of cinnamon toast to the past, the present, and the future.

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