I was considering buying a fake
tree. With my fiancé Matt currently on deployment and knowing that the navy may
take us to places where getting a real tree might be expensive and difficult, I
figured it may be a smart investment... But I couldn't bring myself to do it.
Some of my favorite memories with my father
are from the December months, where he spent hours searching the lot for the
best tree. It had to be over 9 feet tall and completely full, or it would not
suffice. Then he would cut it down himself which was always hard… leading to
the saw breaking, and swears being mumbled under the branches. Never offering
to help too much in fear of another grumble erupting, we would all wait
patiently until he finished. One year, one of us accidentally let go of the
tree on the hill back to the car. Dad had to go back after it, and drag it up
again...My dad’s temper continued all the way home while the rest of us
snickered and rolled our eyes.
The tree seemed to get bigger every
year, dad always taking advantage of our super high ceilings. After waking up
one-too many times in the dead of the night to our tree toppled over on our
couch and coffee table, dad learned to tie the tree to the wall with fishing
wire. My favorite memories are of that special day each year, after the temper
tantrum of "we're NOT getting a tree this big next year! And "I'll be
damned if I do that again" had subsided and we finally were allowed to
decorate the tree. It was usually always a few days after the actual finding,
cutting and securing process because my dad didn't even want to look at the
thing... Even though I pretended it was a chore I actually enjoyed climbing the
broken attic steps with my mom and lugging the Christmas boxes downstairs. We
listened to Manhattan Transfer
Christmas album…Every. December. (…which to this day, my siblings and I can
still hum the proceeding song when one has finished) and spent the day decorating
the tree. My mom takes great pride in her decorations and even now, each year
gives Trisha, Corey and I a new special ornament representing us and that year.
Each year we enjoyed rummaging through our boxes and repeating stories to
another. Eventually dad would get back into the Christmas mood and would dance,
sing and harmonize with us while decorating the tree. Dad’s favorite time
during these yearly fiascos were when everything was put in its place; every
ornament facing the right direction, and every light shining brightly. It was
then and only then, that he could admire his work. He would stand back in the
kitchen and usually say something along the lines of “Yeah, this was a good one”
and we would all nod our heads and praise him with the ‘best tree’ compliments.
We all knew we had the best looking tree around but every compliment from a
visitor would only help aid his pride and our reassurance that he would do it all
again next year.
These are the memories that will
help me make it through the first year without my father. I am so blessed to
have gotten as many Christmas tree adventures as I did with him and will
cherish these memories for the rest of my life. So, long story short… I didn’t get
a fake tree. The picking and comparing of ‘pine vs. fir’, the heavy lifting and
dragging, the “will this fit in the car?” and tied not-that-securely to the
roof… is what my Christmas’ will be made of. The perfect spot in front of the
window, the stubborn rusted tree stand that never seems to tighten, the tangled
lights, the missing bulbs, the tangled lights… are all part of my Christmas’.
The Manhattan Transfer outdated
music, the annoyance of heavy boxes, the finally ready to decorate, and finding
the perfect spot for your favorite ornaments, the ladder for the star and to re-climb
when you realize it is crooked… is all a part of my Christmas. The real pine
scent, the falling of a thousand little needles, and most of all the personal
joy is all part of my Christmas.
So decision made. My envision for
this Christmas and my Christmas’ with Matt, and one day our family to come,
will be with a real, real pain in the ass,
Christmas tree. I hope I make you proud, dad.
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| Thanks for keeping an eye out, Clint. |
