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December 4, 2006
Deck the Halls
When my mother was a little girl growing up in the Mississippi delta, there wasn't much money for Christmas. One year, it was so tight that my grandmother had to draw their Christmas tree on the wall. I always thought that was a sweet story. I don't know how my grandmother felt at the time, but I don't think her children felt a loss at her handdrawn work. Children have an innate excitement about Christmas, no matter how bright the lights or pretty the bows. I see this for myself with my own children, who happily decorated our tiny tree Saturday night.
I was content with that until yesterday, when I took a picture of HeroBoy doing his karate. In the background of the picture, our tree looked... sad. I wanted to post the picture because HeroBoy is so cute doing his "moves", but then I was sort of embarassed by the tree. I didn't want anybody to think I don't care enough about Christmas to do better than that. I worried about what people would think of me.
My first instinct is to say, oh, this tree doesn't reflect MY Christmas spirit- it isn't what I would do if I had the money. I have a whole list of ornaments and decorations in my head that I would use on my perfect tree. It would be beautiful. Fragrant. So delicious you would want to gobble it up.
But surprisingly, my thoughts led me away from that. The more I tried to envision the tree that would express my inner noel, the more I thought about my grandmother, bending over the wall with a marker, sketching out Christmas spirit for her children.
That's what our little tree is about. It's about giving something to our kids, giving the best we can. I look at the tree and see it with adult eyes- I see the fake branches and plastic stand, I see that the tip only reaches my waist. But I can also see it through their eyes- I see the excitment and memories that imprinted in their minds as we drank cocoa and listened to carols. I see their pride in the ornaments they made, in picking just the right spot to hang them. I see their joy at the lights and the sparkle. And I see that what they are seeing is the better view.
So I decided that if this tree is a reflection of me, then so be it. It's a reflection of how much I love my kids, how much I love Christmas. And I have my mother's memory to thank for this realization.
Do I judge my grandmother by the quality of her tree that year? Yes. Yes, I do. I see how loving she was, how earnest, how resourceful. I see the lengths she was willing to go to give them Christmas. She held back her pride, she smiled through tears, she gave when she had nothing to give. How precious she is in the sight of her children, and grandchildren, because of her small tree and her big heart.
If that's not Christmas spirit, I don't know what is.
The Daily | By WonderGirl | 9:27 AM
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Comments
I never knew that story of your mother's Christmas tree... but I remember one of my own... when I was about six and your dad was probably about HeroBoy's age... when times were tight... I think it was after we had the fire in the living room... and Momma taped the Christmas lights onto the wall in the bedroom in the shape of a Christmas tree... and that was our tree... it was one of the best Christmas's ever in my life... I remember that you dad and AuntJ and I each got a baby doll and a cowboy hat and gun holster and cap gun... it was a wonderful, wonderful, Christmas, and I'll never forget the tree on the wall...
Posted by: spiderlillies at December 4, 2006 11:42 AM
Now that is a story to rival that one by Truman Capote. About the fruitcake. What's it called? I see a short story in there somewhere WonderWriterGirl.
Posted by: Jeannette at December 4, 2006 12:46 PM
pretty please, will you post the picture of Heroboy and the tree?
Posted by: auntj at December 4, 2006 3:35 PM
I love this post. Thanks, I needed to read this tonight.
Posted by: Gypsy at December 4, 2006 7:00 PM
That's so beautiful. I might have to cry.
You know, now we are all on the edge of our seats wanting to see the picture...
Posted by: Cheddarina at December 5, 2006 12:27 PM
