My friend, Kimberly Willis Holt, posted a happy memory about a trip she and her sister took with their father to cut a Christmas tree of their own. That triggered a not-so-happy memory of finding one with my sister.
To begin with, Mama appreciated the sacred part of Christmas and sang the carols with great joy. She endured the secular parts. She delayed the tree as long as she could, causing the four McGee sisters considerable embarrassment as our peers said, “You mean you don’t have your tree up yet?” From early childhood, the four of us did the decorating with the other three not always following my instructions to put the tinsel icicles on one at a time rather than in large clumps.
The specific tree-cutting memory came when I was twelve and Beth was ten. Mama, as usual, had delayed until the Christmas tree was past due. Daddy’s visual handicap prevented any handyman skills but how hard could it be to cut down a small (remember we are dealing with Mama) cedar tree? She handed our dull handsaw to Beth and me and sent us on a mission.
The woods behind out house had all kinds of trees, many of them cedar. None of them fit both Mama’s requirement (no taller than either of us) and ours (pretty with a nice shape). We finally found two lopsided trees of the right height that would make a fairly good tree if they were tied together back to back. As the oldest, I took the responsibility and began with the saw. With a great deal of effort, I succeeded only in scraping around on the bark of the tree. Beth finally said, “Let me have it.” The saw remained dull, but Beth was adept. The episode presaged what has become a family role for her. If you need anything practical done, Beth is the McGee Girl you want to call.
Mama praised our creativity with the two trees, helped us get them tied together, and left the four of us to trim the tree with a scant supply of decorations and a box of those tinsel icicles.
I’ve not shared much of Mama’s attitude toward Christmas. I, too, love the sacred part and sing the carols with great joy. I also love the secular part. My Christmas tree goes up the day after Thanksgiving and comes down during the bowl games on New Year’s Day. Yes, it’s artificial – long-lasting and no dull saws involved. The branches are chock full of a lifetime of memories in the ornaments – cheap early marriage, our children’s art from their school days, teacher gifts from my students, mementos from our travels – recalling friends, family, and good times.
My grandsons next door look for their favorites even as they slyly poke fun of my “fake” tree. Little do they know the reality that twines through its branches.