The Tree

When I was a kid, nobody loved Christmas more than me. Well, I’m sure people did, but point remains that I loved Christmas. Lived for it. I used to be in charge of arranging the presents underneath my grandparents’ Christmas tree. I had a whole system: I’d ensure that presents were dispersed underneath the tree in a way guaranteeing that when my aunt PJ (and later, me) handed out the presents, that no one was receiving presents all at once, nor would any one person’s gifts be handed out at once. But it didn’t stop there. I’d carefully analyze the pile of gifts that family members would bring to Granny and Grandaddy’s house, meticulously laying out a strategy that guaranteed a total present extravangaza. Big presents in the back, smaller in the front, making sure that different wrapping papers were distributed throughout. As I got older, I just took over wrapping duties, making the guest bedroom into Jason’s Wrapping Fortress of Solitude. No longer content with arranging the presents, I need to wrap as many as possible so that I knew who was getting what from whom in order to ensure Maximum Gift Funtime. Of course, family members bought stuff for me, but I went out of my way to make sure that I never saw them.

Our Christmases in Kentucky went like this: the whole family would arrive midday on the 24th—we always did our Christmases on Christmas Eve so that everyone could go the celebrations of their other halves. Usually my Aunt Diana stayed late at Granny’s the night before making enough pies that could feed the Army of the Potomac, or at least one 14 year old loudmouth that would eventually run a media empire.¹ We’d all gather for a meal around 5 or 6. Grandaddy always got the first plate. Granny always ate after everyone else. This was a point of pride for her. We’d always listen to Christmas music. Granny’s favorite was Alabama’s Christmas album, something I stil listen to religiously this time of year because it makes me think of her.

After a while, we’d all make our way to the living room where we handed out gifts. After the presents were done, we’d load all the kids into the car and go looking at Christmast lights. Somewhere in the night sky, we’d see a flash and, thinking it must be old Saint Nick, we’d return home to see that Santa Claus stopped in, dropped off MORE presents, and we’d open them again. As I’ve told y’all before, we come from extremely working class stock. Money was always tight. But the Chadwick family (my maternal line) always dug deep for Christmas, especially for the kids.

I think one of the cool things about growing into adulthood is taking those childhood customs and making them your own. You ascend in the lines of the family. Now it is you to brings gifts to your inlaws, and you who enjoys watching the littles coo in delight as they tear through wrapping paper. And for a time, Christmas was one of my favorite things about being a dad.

I stopped celebrating Christmas in 2014.

Going through a divorce, I thought one of the things I could do to make amends was to no longer celebrate the thing that made me happy. I remembered as a kid having to go to my dad’s house—a guy I really didn’t know—and have another Christmas. I remember asking myself which of these was really my family? I grew to hate the idea of two Christmases and I thought that the least I could do for my boys was to abstain in penance.

Now, there were times when I tried. Usually I was dating someone and I didn’t want to have to explain my line of thinking and why I could not forgive myself for a crime that no one committed. I wasn’t ready for that. So I’d play along. And hey, who doesn’t like getting stuff? But could I embrace Christmas? No, rejecting it was part of the bitterness that I clinged to. And more than that, it was a self-indignant moral righteousness on my part. Call it what it is.

Here’s the problem: I still love Christmas. It is the Coca-Cola of holidays. Actually, there’s a whole thing about how Coca-Cola used Christmas to sell its products, but what are you expecting here? History?²

So I decided this year to do something crazy: enjoy the things I like. Star Wars? Check. Legos? Why not? Hiking. Disney. Weight lifting. Collecting wine. Writing snarky reviews of crappy restaurants. Check, check, check, check, checkity check.

And Christmas.

Small problem: I had no tree. So yesterday I made my way to Walmart, where I perused the aisles. I know some people prefer live trees, but that is a lot of effort. Besides where am I gonna find one? On some national forest in the mountains?³ So there was a lot to choose from. As I’ve gotten older, I’ve come to love white lights on trees. I always preferred the ones with colors as a kid, but dear god in heaven maybe I’m changing as a man. But I digress. I decided I wanted one with prestrung lights because stringing those is a pain in the ass. I was lucky to find one for about a hundred bucks. I threw it in the old truck and went home.

Guys, the big point is coming here in about three paragraphs. Stay with me.

I did keep most of my ornaments that I collected through the years. Inside a red and green plastic bin I found Curious George ornaments, Disney ornaments, and all kinds of knick knacks one randomly obtains over a quarter century of adulthood. These are great, but they are showpieces. The workhorse of a Christmas tree are the red and green and gold and silver balls that reside on its limbs. They are the base of operations. I started decorating last night.

And here’s the thing. I’ve been thinking the last few months about our place in the world. I think regular readers of this here diatribe know that. So in assembling the tree and getting it operational, I lost myself in thought.⁴

It’s holiday season. A time of celebration. But it’s tough on a lot of people, too. Loved ones get sick, people pass away. Relationships end. Money gets tight.

I think a lot of us are scared about what happens if things don’t go our way on Tuesday and I’ll have more for that Tuesday morning. Plus, you know, this isn’t our first Christmas. I think it’s natural to wonder what we are doing here. And what do we do next if something awful happens in the election or something else? There’s so much uncertainty. What am I, a single person, to do? How do I make things better? As I write this two days out, it feels so dark.

And then I looked at the tree. I looked deep into the tree, where I placed those small ball ornaments. They’re not as fancy as the stuff on the outside that everyone can see. They’re not designed to catch your eye. On the scale of things, you might might not even think they are remarkable. They outnumber everything else on the tree by far. And they have a purpose. Their job is to amplify the light.

And I’m wondering if we are ornaments, too.

JWH

1. Coming soon.

2. I’m being told now that this is supposed to be a history blog.

3. Oh.

4. Fun fact: I had to move the liquor bar and wine fridge to find a place for the tree. Some metaphor.