O Christmas Tree...

"O Christmas tree, how lovely are your branches" are lyrics to a holiday anthem we are all familiar with. Growing up my parents insisted we trudge down to Lowe's or 84 Lumber (local business like Lowe's) and argue in front of strangers, who were too busy to notice we were arguing because they were arguing too, over which tree would look appropriate in our humble home. After my parents divorced my Mom purchased a "fake" tree. Looking back I think she did this for several reasons two of which were 1. Convenience and 2. to spite my Dad, who still came to our house for Christmas and other holidays despite the fact he was not married to my Mom. If you tell me my family is weird, its nothing I haven't heard say, like, a thousand times before. Save it.
The artificial tree my Mom bought was green. It looked pretty much like a "real" tree until the year of the winter Olympics, don't ask me which. I let go of a blanket, while playing tug-of-war with my brother, causing him to free-fall backwards into the tree's "fake" leafy branches. Needless to say, we both got gold medals across our backside for our performance.
After breaking the tree my Mom began buying real ones again. By this time my brother and I were in middle school and my Dad had purchased his first farm, with trees. Cedar trees and pine trees. So, what did we do? We had to help Dad cut down a tree and drag it over 25 acres into the house.
When my Dad moved to Georgia he purchased his first artificial tree. It was green, unlike the one seen in the photo. There has never been mention--EVER--in the Kidd household of purchasing a white Christmas tree.
So imagine my surprise when my Dad calls in November and says, "Hey Lucy, (remember my Dad doesn't know my name) I put up the Christmas tree today."
"Really?" I ask, proud that he did this on his own.
"Yeah. I got a white tree this year."
Almost choking, "a what tree? Did you say a white tree?"
"Yeah, but when I turn the lights on it looks pink. I am afraid my neighbors will think I am gay." I reply, almost in shock, "that's ok Dad, just tell them its for your daughter."
"Good idea, he offers."
When I repeated our conversation to Lauren, my brother's fiancee, she burst out laughing, literally. My father, one of the most conservative men I know, when it comes to discussing sex, does not utter words like gay.
When my brother was a young pubescent he loved to talk about sex at the dinner table. My Mom, being a RN and a major pervert, relished in discussing anything that embarrassed me or my father, who occasionally ate dinner with us, any chance she got. Instead discussing the upcoming week's schedule we talked about what causes males to get "excited" or why women bleed once a month. My Dad would either shake his head in disapproval, chiding my Mother or leave the room. I would either giggle or sit quietly taking mental notes. Hey, I needed to be educated too. Someday my husband will thank me and possibly my courageous brother because of the benefits of sex education at our family dinner table.
Anyway, to make the tree appear more masculine I decided to persuade my brother, someone who could be mistaken for a unabomber, to stand in front of the gay tree.
As you can see from my brother's facial expression he would rather blow up the tree than stand in front of it.
Lucky for us, there were no explosions or free-falling competitions into the Christmas tree, making it a safe and peaceful holiday for the Kidd family a phenomenon we can only hope carries over into the new year.

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Rae said...

Sweet tree!! XO

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