When I was growing up, my family had a silver (aluminum) Christmas tree. Instead of pine needles, the branches had shiny tinsel strips, and those limbs were so far apart that the bare assembly looked more like a coat rack than a tree. It was only after we put hundreds of ornaments on it that it began to look the part, so every year that’s what we did. And every year, I grumbled about it.
If I remember correctly, my dad had picked it up in a thrift store, and it conveniently broke down into pieces, so as to fit back in the box. This made sense, as we were a military family, and constantly on the move. There really wasn’t time, money or a bunch of extra room for a real tree, so all through my childhood, this shiny forgery was it.
Other than the barrenness of its branches, my big issue was that you couldn’t put Christmas lights on it, and I loved Christmas lights. It bothered me that “everyone else” had Christmas lights on their tree, and we couldn’t have them on ours.
My dad tried to make it more palatable by getting a color wheel, which made the tree appear to change colors. And while I have to admit that I really did like that part, I just couldn’t get past my dislike for this aluminum counterfeit.
To add insult to injury, when I got old enough to earn my own money, I went out and bought an artificial green tree that we could put lights on, but my family opted to keep the silver tree because it had become our tradition. Needless to say, I was not a happy elf.
Within a few short years of that particular Christmas, my brothers and I had all moved on, and the silver tree disappeared into the rearview mirror of my memory. For a long time, I didn’t think much about it, and for all my adult years, I’ve had a green tree covered in lights. But recently, I came across a little statue with a silver tree on it, and the memories came flooding back.
At this point in my life, my dad has been gone for over twenty years, my mom is half way across the country and in poor health, and I can often go for years without seeing or spending quality time with my siblings. Though I love my own family, and the Christmas traditions we have established over the years, there is a part of me that would give anything to go back, and spend another Christmas underneath that gaudy lightless tree.
If that were possible, I would gladly trade my Christmas lights, for a few hours within the glow of that color wheel, and in the presence of the father that I so dearly miss. How I’d love to revisit the time when my brothers and I were just kids, without all the commitments and burdens of adulthood, and more importantly, without all the sibling rivalry that so often stole the joy of our moments together.
If I could go back, I would spend more time appreciating the wonder that my younger sister brought back to Christmas, instead of being so caught up in my own adolescent haze. And I would hug my mother, and be more grateful for all that she did to make those holidays special.
Like so many other times in my life, I failed to recognize the profound blessings of the moment, and the fleeting nature of those seasons of my history. I spent so much of that time caught up in my own turbulent thoughts, and manic emotions, that I missed the richness of the gifts I had been given.
With the benefit of hindsight, I wish that I had understood the precious nature of that time, and had embraced it for what it was. But instead, I allowed meaningless irritations (e.g. lights on the tree) to steal so much of the joy that was afforded me.
As I reflected on all of this, I decided to buy the little statue of the silver tree as a way of reminding myself not to allow petty irritations and meaningless details to steal the joy and beauty of the moments I have left on this earth. And as a symbol of the rich inheritance that’s been passed on to me.
But before I could get this keepsake on my shelf, it became clear to me that what I really needed to do was send this statue to my mother, both to acknowledge all the effort she and my father put in to building a life for their children, and as an expression of the gratitude that laid dormant within my heart for too many years.
Thank you, Mom, I love you! Merry Christmas.
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