The Christmas Tree

Another Christmas has come and gone.  The Christmas tree is back in its box and the ornaments are packed away.  At this writing, that makes 59 Christmases for me.

The earliest Christmas I can remember was my fourth.  It was three weeks after my third birthday and I can still see my point of view as I left my bedroom that morning, looked into the living room and saw presents under the tree—including an inflatable rocking horse—and then going into my parents’ bedroom to wake them up and tell them that Santa had been there.

Our tree was a real one in those days and had what seemed like a million strands of silver tinsel.  After opening my presents, I suddenly remembered the swing set I’d discovered the evening prior.

For some reason, unbeknownst to me, my mother had taken me to our next door neighbor’s house for a visit and a nap.  It seemed a little curious to me, but the gentlemen who lived in that house were quite good friends of our family and this was by no means our first visit.

I played there that day, was provided some snacks while my mother visited, then got sleepy and was put down on one of the beds for a nap.

In the evening, my father and one of the men who lived in that house showed up and joined the socializing.  Soon it was time for us all to leave for my grandparent’s house for Christmas Eve.  My folks gathered up my two sisters and we walked from the house, along the sidewalk past the front of our house, moving towards our car in the driveway.  For some reason I turned my head and from the space between our houses, caught a glimpse of a shiny new swing set in our back yard.

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I shook loose of my mother’s hand and ran towards the swing set, yelling, “He camed!  He camed!”  Even though it wasn’t yet dark, Santa had already stopped at my house!   My parents, I many years later learned, exchanged exasperated glances, then followed me to the back yard and there waited with mild impatience while I tried each swing and both seats on the glider.

Soon I was struck with the idea that there must be presents within the house.  “Let’s go in and see the other presents he left!” I shouted.  My mother snatched me by the arm and ushered me back around the side of the house.

“Sometimes,” she explained, “when Santa has big items like this swing set; he has to make early trips.  We’d better hurry to grandma and grandpa’s house in case he comes back and finds us awake and doesn’t leave anything else.”

I don’t recall much more after that, but I think I took heed of her warning and jumped into the car.  Now, the following morning, my chin was perched on their bedroom window sill, my eyes finding purchase on that gleaming set of swings.

Years passed and memories of Christmases swirl together into one another.  After that early tree, the others are hazy across the decades.  We had real trees and artificial.  Sometime during the 1960’s we had one of those silvery aluminum trees with the accompanying color wheel.  We had green trees, and a green tree with flocked tips.  In the early days we had countless strands of tinsel and, in later years, strings of tinsel garland.  There were toys and games that, in later years, gave way to shirts and socks.  There were Christmas’ with grandparents and others with aunts and uncles and cousins and friends.

People came into our lives and left us.  Family members passed and little ones entered our lives.  I was the child and now I am the grandfather.  And each year, around that oft-times-changing tree, our family came together and shared the spirit of the season and our love for one another.

As our families grow and the large group splinters into smaller branches of our tree, we no longer have Christmas morning with our entire family.  Obviously that’s not possible.  Room size, proximity to one another, schedules and more prevent us from all being together on Christmas morning.  Plus so many of us have splintered families or melded families that trying to see everyone can become hectic and stressful.  But, as much as possible, we see each other the evening before, the evening of, or in the weeks prior to and immediately following.  We gather around a Christmas tree and celebrate the Holiday and our love for our family and friends.

And in each home I visit during the holidays, I reach out and touch their tree.  Observers wonder or even ask if I am checking for freshness or to see if it’s artificial.  I tell them they are correct.  But what I really do is touch each tree and acknowledge those family and friends who have gathered around it at various times during the current season.  And I touch it to thereby join it with all of the Christmas tress I’ve touched in my life; and thereby all of the family members and friends who I have touched and who have touched me in return.  All of those I have loved.