Our Christmas Tree: One True Thing

My dad always cuts down our Christmas tree. I remember when we were kids he would go to the tree farm way out in the plains of the Midwest and hunt down a tree. Sometimes my mom would bundle us up and we’d tag along with my dad. He always wanted the tree that had this big hole in the side. It looked perfect from the front until you turned it ever so slightly and its wound stared you right in the face like a man balding from only in the back of his head. We’d protest, “NAHHHH! Oh Dad, but it has a big hole in it!” All around us rows and rows of trees stretched each way, but somehow, each year my dad would find that one, that he felt ‘needed’ a home. He’d drag it to the car tying it securely on top of our blue mini van. When we got home it took us an hour to figure out how to situate the tree just right. It was like the tree was like a gambling indebted uncle that we had to present flawlessly to the rest of the world. We’d turn the tree a hundred times, propping its empty back towards the corner. Finally we’d get it so it looked just about right. Almost like we got it from a Home Depot. We hung our ornaments on that tree-the ones from kindergarten that were falling apart and those less than lovely ones we made somewhere along the way that my mom insisted were beautiful. Then finally my dad would get on top of our kitchen stool and place the cloth angel with yellow yarned hair on top of the tree. Each year my dad brought home the ‘needy’ tree and we would shake our heads, reposition it a hundred times, decorate the tree and make it our own. Over the years though the trees came to represent many things. It was our childhood innocence as we fell asleep underneath its piny branches Christmas eve. It was the place where I discovered my parents putting all my presents instead of Santa. And later it held presents no longer really for me but for new babies and new beginnings. Now that I am 26 I look forward to going home to ‘the’ tree. In a way its one true thing that I know will be there each year. Although it is far from flawless and missing a few branches and greens, the tree is full of character, charm, and sincerity. For me, its part of what I remember as being home.