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A Christmas perfect in all its many forms
When my brother, sister and I were little, we had a tradition. We had a real Christmas tree every year, picked from our property, cared for during the year by my dad in preparation of the holiday.
It’s a tradition I’ve continued every year since I’ve had my own tree.
When I was in college and space was at a premium, it was a tree so small it could sit on top of an end table. But it was a real tree, although it was picked up from a trip to a tree lot in the local grocery store parking lot, instead of the acreage where my friends and I once built a fort.
Most recently, my tradition is to pick a tree out the day after Thanksgiving with my two oldest nephews at a local store.
A Christmas tree should be taller than me, I told my oldest nephew, when his first pick was a little on the short side.
When we finally landed on one tall enough, I was ready to ask store staff for help. My oldest nephew was too impatient for that, so he just picked the tree up and headed for the front. He’s a tall 10, but it still surprised me.
It’s funny to think that his first Christmas, spent here in Poplar Bluff, he was small enough to sit inside a large Christmas gift bag. We took pictures. In a few more years, he’ll be horribly embarrassed by them.
As our Christmas traditions continue to grow and change, I still stubbornly hang on to those I consider precious, and hope that I can pass that along. Like having a real Christmas tree, that litters my floor with pine needles and occasionally has a bare spot or crooked trunk.
But once I hang the faded pair of Christmas ornaments from my great-grandparents’ tree, the clay ornaments by brother and I made in school, and the many unique ornaments I’ve picked up over the years from trips and special holidays, it is completely and absolutely perfect.
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