until this little guy is displayed somewhere safe in my house. On the underside he is dated "1962" with a black magic marker. His brilliant paint job mostly gone-rubbed away by little fingers hoping that just by holding him would make the great day come sooner.
Poised on a high shelf, the first time I look at him every year, I remember just like yesterday the day I first saw him. I was 4 years old and sitting under our silver aluminum Christmas tree looking at the bright red ornaments on the tree and all the equally bright packages under the tree. Even as a 4 year old, I was a tradionalist and longed for the popcorn garlanded, icicle laced, magnificent green firs I saw depicted in all my storybooks.
What was wrong with my family? All the story books showed happy families bundled up and packed in their station wagon with a GREEN Christmas tree tied down on top. Or better still they were tramping through the woods with a tree they had actually cut themselves. And us? Daddy would go to the attic and re-appear with a longish box that contained a bare skinny pole with holes all over it. Then, one by one, daddy would remove flashy aluminum sticks from their paper sleeves and stick them in the holes. In 30 minutes time we would have a "tree" that was a testment to the times: the space age and all that went with it. The crowning touch was not a beautiful angel or a shiny star for the top, but a color wheel that sat on the floor and revolved reflecting red, yellow, blue, and green onto our alme uminum fir.
I've oftetn wondered what went through my daddy's mind as he contructed this tree every year. My mother loved it. I don't know what he thought of it. But the day he brought home this little Santa and handed it to me, it was though he was saying to me that he understood and hoped this little traditional icon might take the edge off the aluminum tree for me.
The irony in all of this is that every year as I put out Santa I wish I had that old silver tree. I would gladly set it up and decorate it and probably display it right next to my gorgeous, real, live, green tree.
3 comments:
Yeah, I wonder what he thought. I've got to dig through old photos and see if I can find a real, green tree somewhere in the family Christmas history. That silver one is the only one I can remember. You would think since I'm 8 yrs. older, I would remember a green one. I don't seem to remember a lot of childhood stuff as easily as you do.
I would like to have that silver tree!
can I have that Santa when you go?
-K
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