Two weeks before Christmas, my parents would take us to Kmart. We weren’t looking to take advantage of blue light specials. We were heading to the Christmas tree lot. We would sort through the trees to find one around six foot tall. It had to have enough room between the top and the ceiling for the tree topper to fit. We’d find the perfect tree that was just the right height.
We’d get it home, and Dad would cut the twine that
bundled it into a misshapen tube, cut a couple inches off the bottom of the
trunk, and put it into the Christmas tree stand. The lights went on first,
ornaments next, the topper, and finally the tinsel. Tinsel was a thin silver-colored
plastic strip a little over a foot long. They could make the scrawniest
Christmas tree look spectacular. The final step was plugging it in.
It was always beautiful no matter what. It meant
two weeks off school, seeing family we didn’t get to see very often, and
presents. Hopefully, all the doodling and circling of ads in the Christmas
catalogs had paid off. You’d think that with a Christmas list of hundreds of
things that getting only a few of them would be upsetting, but I don’t ever
remember being disappointed on Christmas morning. I never looked at the list
after Christmas to see what I didn’t get. I was grateful for the things I did.
The Christmas catalog was taken to grandpa’s house
a couple days after Christmas to start fires in the potbelly stove. I listened
to many of my grandpa’s stories next to a toasty potbelly stove whose daily
fire started with my Christmas list.
I wouldn’t trade my Christmas memories for
anything. I’ve heard the saying You can’t go home again dozens of times.
What it really means is you can’t relive the childhood memories you had looking
through an adult’s eyes. The wonder of a childhood Christmas is dwarfed by the
adult realization of how much love your parents poured into making your
Christmas special.
Thanks mom and dad from me and my sister. The
memories you gave us were the greatest gift of all.
~*~
