It was December 1944, just three days before Christmas and we still didn't have a Christmas tree. World War II found many families struggling just to meet their needs, and Christmas trees seemed to be the furthest thing from their minds.
Our family was no different. With six children I knew we would have a meager Christmas, but would it be without our family’s annual Christmas tree?
Early that morning Papa loaded all six of us children in the car and we headed for the closest Christmas tree lot. As we pulled into the lot, I could hear myself saying, “We’re going to have a Christmas tree!”
Everyone piled out of the car and started running to a tree hoping it would be the one Papa would pick. He glanced around the lot knowing that this close to Christmas he could probably do some bargaining.
He walked over to the area marked $3. He looked at several of the trees, walked to another area and picked out one that was missing several branches. He approached the salesman and offered him 50 cents. The salesman looked at Papa and then at us six children who were now staring at him. He counter offered a dollar. “Done,” Papa said.
I couldn’t believe what Papa had just done. He had just agreed to buy the ugliest Christmas tree I had ever seen. How could he? What was he thinking? What would Mama say?
Papa reached into his pocket and pulled out a silver dollar. I realized at that moment it was all the money he had. He handed it to the salesman and picked up the tree, ordering all of us children back to the car while he tied it onto the roof.
After he had finished securing it to the car he walked over to where a large stack of branches lay on the ground and asked the salesman if he could take some. The salesman agreed and Papa picked up several and handed them to us to hold on our laps while we returned home.
As we arrived, Mama came to the front door to greet us. Papa quickly unloaded the tree and Mama took one look, never said a word and went back in the house. For the next three hours Papa took the hand drill and started boring holes in the trunk of the tree. When he finished each hole, he would meticulously and patiently insert one of the branches until it was firmly in place.
Finally, he set the tree upright and I couldn’t believe my eyes. There stood a beautiful 6-foot tree with no branches missing that could have outclassed any of the trees we left at the lot. I was stunned.
Papa took our old tree stand from the shelf and affixed it to the bottom of the tree. He then carried it into the house and placed in front of the big bay window that faced Yellowstone Highway. Mama smiled and I knew everything was going to be all right.
That evening all of the family gathered for the trimming of the tree. When all the ornaments were placed on the tree, both store-bought and homemade, we applied our favorite bubble lights. Next the tinsel and other items were added until the tree was decorated and the lights were turned on. It now stood majestically in the front window for everyone to see.
I don’t remember what I got for Christmas that year, but I will never forget how proud I was of the beautiful Christmas tree that adorned our neighborhood in December 1944. Papa taught me a lifelong lesson that Christmas: The tree I perceived to be so ugly became a thing of beauty with just a little work, and so it is with life.
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