I was an only child until the age of five and then my brothers arrived.  But until then, my parents had a great deal of time to spend alone with me. They were only in their twenties and the holiday season was a chance to be a kid again along with me.  As soon as December rolled around they started embracing the season.  Dad would put Christmas lights on the house and we would buy a huge real tree to decorate.  To this day I love the smell of pine and it reminds me of a childhood of hot chocolate and homemade stockings by my grandmother with care.

Mom and I were in charge of the ornaments and the actual decorating, while Dad was the installer of the lights. With each ornament she took out of the box, Mom would explain its origin.  The stories were new to me when I was four, but over the years I never got tired of hearing her tell them.  I’d give anything to hear her stories again.

“This one is from Woolworth’s Department Store. I was working as a telephone operator and saved up all year for this.”  She held up a foot long red sleigh with Santa driving his reindeer and placed it on the tree by draping it across several branches.

“And this one your father made.”  The ornament was a transparent plastic globe with a little Lego tree, cotton had been used for snow on the ground and a porcelain deer stood inside.  The outside of the globe had cotton and glitter glued around it.

As we grew older, married and/or moved away, artificial trees replaced the real ones, and the sleigh began showing up on the mantel above the fireplace.  However, the ornaments live on and I continue the tradition.

Below is a blog entry I wrote last Christmas and I thought it would be nice to revisit it again this year.


What My Christmas Tree Means to Me