Maude McDaniel, Columnist
Cumberland Times-News
December 22, 2007 12:41 am
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Did you watch the lighting of the National Christmas Tree last week?
Neither did I, but I saw it later on the news and — I hate to say this; somehow it seems unpatriotic — you know, I wasn’t all that impressed.
By the Christmas tree, I mean.
Oh, it’s a beautiful tree by itself. But, honestly, now, were you thrilled by the decorations? Frankly, I thought the finished product looked as if it had come out of a Jell-o mold. All the ornaments were cookie-cutter perfect, geometrically placed, and, worst of all, there wasn’t a branch out of place. In fact, you couldn’t even see any branches. The whole thing might as well have been carved out of plastic.
Now, I’m the first to admire a really beautifully decorated tree. And I have standards too. For instance, I’m one of those annoying folks who insists that tinsel must be put on separately, or, at most two at a time, and draped carefully over each branch, not thrown on or carelessly suspended from one branch to another.
And I have always believed that the most beautiful and sophisticated trees wear swags. Nothing pulls together a tree with a million different ornaments on it like a top-to-bottom pattern of swags. It can be whatever kind of swags you like, popcorn, cranberries, tinsel rope, silver stars, or gold nuggets, but, as long as it’s not too mechanically even, swaggery is good. Just so long as it doesn’t hide the branches. Because my kind of Christmas tree has unmistakable, honest-to-goodness, real-life branches poking up on all sides.
That way some of the decorations can be hung back in the nooks and crannies, so that you get lots of pleasant surprises when you look close. You can still see the shape of my kind of tree underneath the lights, with all its imperfections, like the perfectly round tree we had one year, and the tall skinny one the year after that. Every tree should have a branch that stubbornly sticks out at right angles, or one that droops a little to accommodate a pine cone. A Christmas tree should be ruffly, and not look as if someone poured plaster all over it and then smoothed over the holes.
But then what do I know?
I grew up when we weren’t sick and tired of Christmas carols yet. There was no television so I never saw a show in which Santa was shot, or worse yet, did the shooting. He didn’t chase girls, either. The most fearsome part of Santa was that he knew who was naughty and who was nice. Can you imagine a world in which that actually mattered?
On the other hand, we didn’t get him mixed up with the Baby Jesus either. Don’t ask me how that could be, I just know that we separated the two in our little minds and knew the proper place for each.
I wasn’t shocked when I learned the truth about Santa. Deep down, I had rather suspected something like that for a year or two, but I was ready to give up childish things and never felt a qualm. My kids tell me they never minded much either. My elder daughter was always rather reserved about the old chap — the first time she was old enough to notice, about three, she walked up the aisle, stood and observed him closely for about 40 seconds and then calmly walked back down the aisle again, looking unimpressed.
Some people, good folks all of them, claim that the Santa Claus thing is a lie that deeply damages children when they learn the truth. Bah humbug. You don’t have to tell them about Santa Claus; they pick it up from the culture, so technically you’re not lying to let them believe. And when they start to ask about him, just say, “Well, what do you think?” Children will let you know if they’re ready or not.
Once the time comes, all you have to do is make sure the Newly Enlightened One gets a special privilege to go along with his new adult status, like maybe helping to fill the stockings. Then he’ll be the first to insist on Santa for the little ones. (As each of our children learned the truth they were allowed to get up secretly after all the kids went to bed and help trim the Christmas tree. However, trees go up so early these days; maybe you could just let him dust off the ornaments instead.)
So much feeds into Christmas meaning, and much of it shouts family. When I was little, we lived in Wheeling, and every year we drove to Pittsburgh after Thanksgiving so Mother could do her Christmas shopping. What I remember from those annual pilgrimages are, 1. the store windows. 2. the escalators. You don’t see the animated musical store windows any more and; in my opinion, television cell phones don’t make up for the loss. As for escalators, they’re pretty common nowadays, and nowhere near as fascinating as when I spend hours riding up and down on them, thus giving Mother all the time she needed for shopping..
But the main thing was that we were together as a family at Christmas, as we never had time to be otherwise. (Except on vacation, which was also a big family affair.) Some of that still lingers nowadays, when families do their Christmas thing together, and I try to tell myself that the world hasn’t changed as much as I tend to think at other times.
So Merry Christmas to both my readers, and may you celebrate the Love of the Season where it means the most, with your beautiful, imperfect families.
Maude McDaniel is a Cumberland freelance writer. Her column appears in the Times-News on alternate Sundays.
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