A Christmas Tree Scar

If you’re reading this column, you’ve made it! The Christmas season has officially begun! Now some of you started the season even before buying that Thanksgiving turkey. Others started the season way back before Halloween. But for us, growing up on that old familiar street not so far away called Flamingo, the Christmas season began Friday morning after Thanksgiving with a trip to Uncle Bud’s Christmas Tree Farm. But this story is about this year’s Christmas season, and the start of a new family tradition. But to get to that, we must first get to this…

Just after breakfast, our parents packed my three brothers, The Sister and me into the avocado green station wagon with the faux wood panels for the ride to the country. Uncle Bud’s tree farm sat at the edge of our town at the end of a winding dirt and gravel road. We’d been going to see the burly man in the blue coveralls far back as I could remember, and me being eight, that was pretty far. 

When we finally pulled up the little log cabin and saw Uncle Bud outside loading a tree on a customer’s car, we kids were well into our annual argument about which of us would help Dad cut down the tree. Any other time we argued, our parents would listen for about five minutes and then put a stop to it, but for some reason, every year on the trip to get the tree, they never did. It was years later that Dad revealed why they allowed the argument to last the entire trip. When asked, he chuckled, “It was part of the tradition. Listening to you kids argue about who got to do what was something I’ll never forget.” Then he smiled, “And I bet y’all won’t forget either.” 

Dad was right. Of all the times we visited Uncle Bud’s tree farm, I’ll never forget the year I was eight. The reason wasn’t because Dad had chosen me to be the one to cut down the tree. He did. It wasn’t because Twin Brother Mark got lost in the tree farm’s tree maze. He did, and it was funny. And it wasn’t because Older Brother Richard shoved snow down Big Brother James’s pants. He did, and that was really funny. Nope, I can remember that day I help Dad cut down our Christmas tree as clearly as I can still see my Christmas tree scar.

After we kids picked out the perfect tree, Dad made his decision, “Because he was the only one who didn’t ask if he could cut down the tree, it’s his turn.” When Dad pointed to me, two things happened. First, my brothers and The Sister started to complain. Second, they pelted me with snowballs. Dad quickly put an end to both, told them to go play (this is when Mark got lost in the maze) turned to me and smiled. “Come on, we got a tree to cut.”

The rest of that day went downhill from there. I did cut down our tree, but I also cut my left hand with the saw. Luckily, Uncle Bud had an emergency kit ready for just such an incident. Being retired from the army, he knew just what to do. After the bleeding stopped and the cut was cleaned and bandaged, Dad placed me in the front seat next to Mom and then helped Uncle Bud tie the tree to the top of the car. We got a great tree that day, and I got a Christmas tree scar. Hopefully, our new way to start the Christmas season won’t result in any scars.

This year the season began not the day after Thanksgiving, but early Saturday morning. A few weeks ago, I made reservations at our neighborhood nail salon for both the Girly Girls and Yours Truly. Yep, it was a spa day! I looked on while they were getting their “holiday nails” and smiled knowing they will remember the experience for the rest of their lives – even without a scar. While waiting for them, I also got a much-needed manicure and pedicure. And before you start emailing, although the Girly Girls really wanted me to get them, I didn’t get holiday nails.

Here’s hoping you continue or start a new tradition with your family this year, one that helps you to remember the joy and love of this holiday – minus any scars.