I Can't Fake It

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.

        

Thanks for keeping an eye out, Clint.