An Aluminum Christmas Tree

“But, how will Santa know where to find us?” In second grade, my world turned upside down with the dissolution of my parent’s marriage, and in my first Christmas since the divorce, I struggled to cope.

My life was in turmoil after I’d moved to a different home in a different city with a different mother and two different siblings. But the Christmas season was the same, or nearly so. We took drives to see the Christmas lights, decorated our classrooms, and I studied the catalogs in every spare moment, looking for the perfect toy.

One evening at the dinner table, Dad said, “It’s time to decorate the tree.”

We ran into the living room, but I stopped short. Instead of a natural tree, I gazed at a gleaming, silver monstrosity.

Dad broke the silence. “Okay, hang the ornaments.”

“Where are the lights?”

“Can’t. They’re a fire hazard on aluminum trees.”

“But, this isn’t right. No lights? No real tree? No shiny ornaments? This is NOT Christmas.”

“Look, Bill. We’ll have to make do with what we have.” Dad’s voice carried none of the frustration he must have felt. “Now, settle down or go to bed.”

I hung ornaments on this garish tree, keeping to myself my conviction that this was going to be the worst holiday ever.

Except, it wasn’t. We got presents from both households, and I received what I wanted the most: an archery set.

I pondered this over the ensuing years before I understood. Of course, I wanted gifts from family and presents from Santa, but the delights didn’t come from the tree. Natural or manufactured, it made no difference. Whether my mom and dad were together or apart, the source of everything I received on Christmas morning was their enduring love for their children.

William R. Bartlett lives in Belton with his family.