TheBanyanTree: MY WAY

[Sharon Mack]

Never had the courage before.  Always said I didn't want it, that I hated
putting it up.  Too much trouble, too much mess, too much time wasted.
Finally, when the last kid left I found an old fake tree in the shed.  I'd
just bought the house and was cleaning it out from the previous owners.
Imagine what an ass, buying a home for the first time at fifty-eight.  I
must have been out of my mind.

But getting back to that tree, it stood about three feet tall and had apples
adorning its bent wire branches.  Fake apples, fake tree.  Oh, swell!  I
brought it in and cleaned off the fake clay pot it was set in and put it in
the living room.  I just stood and stared at it.  It looked like I felt.
Old, bent, broken, ugly.  Why bother, I thought to myself.  Just because
everyone else is doing trees, must you?  Of course, I answered myself.
Isn't it your tradition to do what society and your closest friends and
family bid the 'right' thing to do...or just the 'thing' to do?

I moved the coffee table to the window, covered it with an old white sheet
and put the tree on it.  I wrapped another around the fake clay pot and
proceeded to straighten its branches and remove the fake apples.  I let it
sit that way for several days.  Empty, dark...devoid of any celebration.  

On the fifth day I went to the attic and lugged down two large Rubbermaid
containers.  There were at least four more, but I figured whatever was in
the two I could handle, would have to do.  I was too tired for any more and
I didn't really care that much.  Luckily, there was a string of lights and
it only took one string to cover that tree.  There were some old Christmas
toys I set on the table; a Mickey Mouse with a pull string to make him talk,
a wire with a magnetized wheel that traveled back and forth as you tipped
the rod and a stuffed Christmas bear.  There were a couple of my
nutcrackers.  Somewhere I had an entire collection, but these two would have
to do.  Four plain blue bulbs, a couple of angels, a bell, and my old manger
scene.  What do they call it?  A crèche? 

That was it.  Done!  No more!  I was tired, and trust me, no one that
visited commented on my tree.  I didn't wonder why.

**********************************

My sixtieth year found me in much the same mood and by now I was already
facing foreclosure on the house.  It didn't take long for me to realize I'd
taken on too much.  I'd gotten caught in the 'housing boom.'  

This year my youngest son came home for a visit.  At twenty-five he still
wanted a tree.  I told him it was wrapped in black plastic and stored with
the two tubs of decorations in the basement.  I had been too tired after
that first year to climb the stairs.  It had seemed easier to go down.  If
he wanted to bring them up that was fine with me.  We could put them up
after my appointment at the bank.  They'd said they wanted to help me,
perhaps avoid foreclosure.

When I came home that afternoon, the three items were in the corner of the
kitchen waiting.  My son stood proudly next to them, smiling, wanting to
know if I was ready to decorate. I told him about the bank, the house, the
foreclosure.  The bank couldn't help.  His smile vanished.  We looked at
each other for a moment in silence, then together we glanced at the pile of
things he'd brought from the basement and back again at each other.

"I'll take 'em back downstairs, Ma.  Okay?"

I nodded and in less than two minutes they were out of my sight.

 

****************************

 

On the Saturday before Christmas, I was in the basement doing laundry as
usual when I caught sight of the top tub my son had brought down a few days
before.  I went to it and popped the lid.  There sat the manger, the crèche.
I pulled it out letting the smaller items fall to the bottom of the tub, set
it on top of the laundry basket and brought it upstairs.  It seemed a blind
act.  One with no thought or reason.  I just wanted it upstairs.

And now it sits atop my smallest shelf in front of the living room window.
Quiet, unlit, undecorated except with the scene of the shepherds and the
animals and the parents and the tiny babe that started this hullabaloo.  I
glance at it often.  I'm glad its there, and I'm glad I finally had reason
to stop the foolishness of the tree.  It suits me.