Christmas Tree Shrinks This Year

When I was young, I remember going to my aunt’s house in December. Her Christmas tree consisted of a little three-foot tall artificial model sitting on an end table. And that was it. I was horrified. “That’s not a Christmas tree!” I exclaimed. “That little thing is an insult to the whole spirit of Christmas!” (At the time I thought the spirit of Christmas was “excess,” as in a popular Christmas carol: “Excess the halls with boughs of holly, Fa la la la-la, la-la la la.”)

An approved Christmas tree, I was certain, required a hike into the woods with a chain saw, where you’d cut down a big, full pine tree at least 10 or 12 feet tall (even if your ceilings were only eight feet high). Then you dragged that sucker back home and erected it in the living room. So what if it was too tall? You’d chop off the top section, which made it appear the tree had penetrated the ceiling into an upstairs bedroom. So what if it was full of spiders and mice and the occasional family of squirrels? That just made the holiday festivities more exciting.

Then you proceeded to decorate the tree with seven sets of blinking lights, four or five-hundred ornaments, and a bushel of tinsel. Finally, you adorned the tree with some holiday treats, such as candy canes, popcorn balls, and canned hams. (Not big ones, of course. It was Christmas, after all. You had to show some respect. So we used the small three-pound canned hams.)

Now that was a Christmas tree! Or at least that’s how I remember it from my childhood. So, why do I recall these long lost memories of the Ghost of Christmas Past? Well, I’m glad I asked me, so I’ll tell you.

This year my wife and I decided to follow the example of my dearly departed aunt: we bought a dinky three-foot artificial tree and plopped it onto an end table. And you know what? It looks fine. It makes our living room look festive enough, and we didn’t have to spend a week chasing mice and squirrels out of the house and putting Calamine lotion on spider bites.

I did discover, however, that even a small three-pound canned ham will tip the tree over, so this year we’ll have to forego that cherished and holy tradition, which dates back to biblical times. (What? You’ve never heard of the canned ham on a Christmas tree tradition? Oh, you haven’t lived!)

The only problem is our children. When they traveled home the other day to visit, they were horrified. “That’s not a Christmas tree!” they exclaimed. “That little thing is an insult to the whole spirit of Christmas!”

Trying to be calm and wise (neither of which I do very well), I said to them, “What exactly is the spirit of Christmas?”

The immediately burst into song: “Excess the halls with boughs of holly, Fa la la la-la, la-la la la.”

So, even though my children are as disappointed by my wimpy tree as I was decades ago by my aunt’s wimpy tree, I’m now convinced this little hunk of made-in-China green plastic does a fine job of filling our home with the Christmas spirit.

We have other decorations in the room, of course. And by far the best decoration is that quaint item suspended above the archway leading into the living room. In keeping with tradition, whenever your sweetheart walks into the room and pauses in the archway, you jump up, point above her head, and then embrace her in a big smooch. There is nothing that says “Merry Christmas” quite like a kiss under the canned ham.