It may be old, tacky, broken, and made of plastic, but it’s a symbol of togetherness that has weathered the shifting seasons. Which is why, this Yuletide, as with all the others, it’s here to light up the family home all over again
‘I’m taking the Christmas tree to school,’ my husband, the prep school teacher, called over his shoulder as he left for school early one morning.
I was up and out of bed in an instant.
‘What? That’s my tree! Hold it right there, you monster!’ I shrieked at him. ‘What kind of man gives away his woman’s Christmas tree?’
Andreas stopped walking towards the car and the back of his shoulders shrugged. He put the tree box down and looked at me.
‘Sam,’ he said, ‘This tree is 17 years old. It’s plastic. It smells like you’d expect it to smell after almost two decades on top of the kitchen cupboards. And our kids are grown. Do we really have to hang on to it? Isn’t it time to prop it up in the reception area of the prep school, where it will be appreciated?’
I sat down on the front step.
‘Don’t be ridiculous. I appreciate the hell out of that tree. You know how I feel about Christmas decorations. We aren’t even Christian. Which means this holiday is pretty much about celebrating the decorations themselves.’
‘And our loving family,’ Dreas added.
‘Yes, and also them,’ I agreed. ‘And the bonding possible with a good string of tinsel.’
Our sons wandered out to see what all the noise was about.
“Oh good,’ said Son1. ‘Are we finally getting rid of the stinky old tree?’
‘Et tu, Brutus?’ I wailed.
Son2 stepped up, to add his 2 cents.
‘Guys, I don’t think you’re getting the full picture here. Its not about the tree. It’s about all the tree represents.’
He’s right. Our tree began life as part of the décor in Oma and Opa’s delicatessen. Being European, they were pretty dismissive of plastic trees, so I took it home with us, crammed in the car with two babies and all their paraphenalia as we drove home from Pretoria to Cape Town.
It’s also the centrepiece of so many other traditions. Our tree is the proud owner of not one, not two, but three strings of fairy lights. Every year, bits of string fail to work and get relocated to the bit of the tree that faces the wall.
We have a dodgy giant star for the top that is impossible to get straight. We have decorations made by our children (facing the wall) and ones bought at overseas Christmas markets. We have quirky ones, broken ones, ones from my parent’s old tree and ones that still make it up every year, loved despite being slightly disliked.
Putting up our tree is also a bit of a performance, not only because of the difficult positioning of non-working lights, but because you have to plug each plastic branch into a trunk that melted a bit during a kitchen fire. It’s even more of a performance to take it down, which is why we generally only do that in April each year.
I reminded the boys of all these points.
‘C’mon boys. Let Momma keep her christmas cheer!’
‘We’re talking about giving the tree away, not limiting your access to Christmas bubbly,’ deadpanned my older son.
Hey,’ I shot him a look. ‘I haven’t bought your presents yet.’
And so it was that my tree lives to light up another year. I’ll think I shall get her some disco balls and a new string of lights to celebrate.
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