I put up our Christams tree the other night. As I hung the ornaments I reflected on decades of past Christmases. The following story is a reprint of my first published story. I hope you enjoy it.
Tales of Christmas Past
I was relaxed, taking in the stereo when a commercial interrupted my listening pleasure.
“Make this Christmas one that she’ll never forget,” droned the announcer.
“Yeah,” I thought. “Spend big bucks and everyone will love you. Spend enough and we may even have peace on earth.”
Christmas commercialism, it seems to get worse ever year. Do not get me wrong. I enjoy Christmas. It just bothers me that everyone thinks you have to spend a lot of money to have a merry one. I thought back to the commercial, “the best Christmas ever.” It took my memories back to the Christmas of my 10th year, my most unforgettable holiday.
My family and I had moved to Arizona from Chicago fours years before. Arizona was in a serious recession. My father, who had always provided a healthy paycheck for his wife and five children, could not find work. We got by on unemployment checks.
Jobs were plentiful in Chicago and my father’s former boss was anxious to take him back. After four years of quiet, safe and sunny Arizona living however, my mother refused to return.
If my father could not find employment he would return to Illinois, send money, and the rest of the family would remain in Arizona.
It was a sad time – the bickering about money, worrying if my dad would have to move away. Christmas was an added burden. Money was tight enough without the added expense of the holiday. My mother explained the financial situation to us and we knew not to expect much in the way of presents. Of course the brightly decorated evergreens we had enjoyed in the past were out of the question. We never even asked about one.
Instead we pulled a three-foot aluminum tree out from the garage. The cold tinsel stalk inspired about as much Christmas spirit as a box of Reynolds wrap.
While everyone else decorated the tree, I decided to take a stroll.
As I walked toward the end of the block, I turned right so I could investigate the bowling alley parking lot where they had been selling Christmas trees. I loved the scent of the pine in the cold air, another of many reasons I hated our artificial tree.
As I neared the lot, I saw that it was bare. I kicked at the fragments of broken branches. In the corner, lying on its side, was a long misshapen evergreen.
It was easy to see why the tree was discarded. However, something inside of my brain clicked. The poor tree needed a home. My home needed a tree.
I grabbed the trunk, but I was not strong enough to move it. I ran home to fetch my younger brother, Terry, who I was sure would assist in my plight. As it is so often the case with brothers, Terry lacked my enthusiasm.
“I don’t even think a dog would use that tree,” he laughed.
“Maybe so, but it would make a fine fort,” I replied. With that in mind, Terry helped me transport the tree down the block and into our back yard.
My mother looked up from washing the dishes as we walked up the driveway, and warned us against bringing that “filthy thing” into the house.
“Its for a fort!” Terry exclaimed. I just smiled.
Once the tree was in the back yard, I sent Terry on another mission. I had no intention of turning the evergreen into a fort – at least not yet.
My dad walked up and looked at the tree. It was long, sparse on the top with heavy branches on the bottom. I was sure I could win him over, so I explained my scheme to him.
“You could chop a foot off the bottom and cut the branches off and drill holes where the tree is bare and do a little transplanting,” I said.
My older sister, Diane walked out and spied the tree. “Father, you are not going to let her bring that thing in the house are you?” Diane shrieked.
“I don’t see why you don’t like it,” I said. “It looks just like you. Not enough on the top and too much on the bottom.”
Diane walked off in a huff.
Whether dad was bored, liked my idea, or was caught up in my enthusiasm I cannot be sure. But soon a drill and saw were out and “Ernie” the unwanted evergreen became a beautiful Christmas tree.
Dad brought the tree inside and we placed the few ornaments we had on Ernie. To help fill in the uncovered areas, we strung popcorn and pyracantha berries and cut out little ornaments from paper. Even my 18-year-old brother, Dennis, who was fond of imitating Scrooge and saying “Bah Humbug” to any mention of Christmas, helped to get Ernie into shape.
We did not have any Christmas lights, so Terry and I pooled our money, about 90 cents, and we got the rest of the cash from “Jack rabbit,” my little sister Tina’s bank. I am ashamed to say it was an unauthorized withdrawal.
One string of lights did not cover much, so we pushed the tree into a corner and decorated only the front. Despite the circumstances, I was happy. We all were. Never before, and unfortunately never afterward, do I remember my family working together so joyfully. For a short while, we were happy to be together and share what we had, each other.
That was the last Christmas we celebrated together as a family for a long time. Shortly afterward, my father returned to Chicago, unable to come home permanently until I was 16.
Except for my nemesis, Diane, my siblings are still living in Arizona. Most holidays, we get together to exchange insults and presents. Our Christmas trees are always magnificent and the presents are plentiful and brightly decorated. You will not find strings of popcorn or pyracantha berries anywhere.
Christmas carols, if they were sung (and they are not) would be droned out by the big football games that are always scheduled in honor of the birth of Jesus.
I still think back to my childhood and that yuletide of my 10th year, and I know a truckload of presents could not match the happiness I felt that day. It was a special time when my father listened to me and made a small dream come true. And it all happened because of a poor misshapen Christmas tree that nobody else wanted.