11/28/24
As the holiday season comes upon us, I was remembering my Dad. I remember that we always went out to a Christmas tree dealer in some cold, poorly lit, parking lot and picked out a tree. It was usually my brother and I that went with Dad. We had to get a short needle tree “because short needles are easier to hang bulbs on” he would tell us every year – a bit of advice I am no longer convinced of, having had a few ponderosa pines as Christmas trees later in life. It needed a nice shape, no bare patches – but if it did, we could turn the tree towards the wall. Bringing it into the house was a huge chore that Dad seemed to manage but not without a few choice words muttered under his breath. We had a spot picked out near the staircase. The metal tree stand was attached outside but inevitably needed adjusting once it was inside. Dad stood the tree up and Mom made sure it was straight.
And then the lights went on. The large, hot, multicolored, incandescent kind that would be illegal today. I remember Dad making sure the bulbs were positioned so that even the interior of the tree would be lit up.
And then came the popcorn. He loved having strung popcorn on the tree, popped with a hot air popper and stored in a large paper grocery bag. Us kids tried to help string it but would often fall short. At the last-minute Dad would stay up all night to make sure enough popcorn was strung for the tree. We needed a lot of popcorn since the goal was to drape the popcorn not simply wrap it straight around – draping – another Dad skill that I never seemed to get the hang of. He did so love that popcorn and eventually I learned to love it too. It was our tradition.
With the lights and popcorn on, the kids and Mom would do the ornaments. Dad took position as the ornament dealer and gently pulled them out of their boxes making sure each had a hook. Dad seemed to have a story about each ornament: where it came from and its whole history before getting to the Reardon family Christmas tree. Once properly adorned with – – in my child-mind’s eye what must have been thousands of — ornaments, Dad would put the foil icicles on the branches.
Dad loved preparing for Christmas. He put a lot of energy into it. I have my own kids and traditions now. We go into the mountains every year to find the perfect tree. I somehow figure out how to get it into the front door just like Dad did but with my own choice words. My kids watch that step in awe and then decorate the tree just as we did years ago. I am now the ornament dealer telling stories about each one. They love the train that goes under the tree and play with it every day just as I did. But no popcorn or icicles for us. The pets will eat it. As for the lights, I never figured out how to hang them the way Dad did. That was a secret Dad skill. Maybe today’s safer lights are harder to attach. Regardless, I can say that I am thankful for all the memories Dad gave me throughout our many Thanksgivings and Christmases. This will be the first holiday season with him gone. The first without calling him up and telling him all about the tree. I will still call Mom of course but it will be different without Dad’s voice on the other end. Thank you, Dad, for all the many memories of the holiday season. I hope I can pass along good memories to my kids as well. Many of your traditions live on. Perhaps someday I too will master the lights.