The Abandoned Tree

Story ID:	3198
Written by:	Betty (BJ) Roan
Story type:	Family History
Writers Conference:	My Favorite Holiday Story
Location:	Dallas TX USA
Year:	1980

Growing up in a house where the patriarch didn’t believe in celebrating holidays wasn’t easy, especially during the Christmas season. Yet, even as a child deprived of Santa, Christmas was my favorite holiday. The Christmas spirit was alive and well in everyone, spread by joyful faces and greetings of “Merry Christmas” or “Happy Holidays”. The excitement of the season infected everyone, even the grumpiest of the residents in our small community. Christmas spirit wasn’t just the anticipation of brightly wrapped packages on Christmas morning. I felt it even though I knew there wouldn’t be presents at my house. The only gift I would get was an apple or orange, along with a bag of nuts from the school bus driver. I wish I had told him how much I appreciated his small token, but all I did was smile shyly and say thank you.

The only bad thing about Christmas was going back to school after the holiday. The teacher invariably went around the room, asking each child to tell the class what Santa had left under their tree. I was embarrassed to stand up and say my family didn’t celebrate Christmas, so I would listen attentively as the other children described their bounty. From their lists, I mentally picked out the gifts I would have liked to receive. When it was my turn, I stood up and presented my list of fictitious presents. It seemed like such a small lie to save face in front of my fellow students. After all, I couldn’t have my friends feeling sorry for me. Don’t get me wrong, I did feel sad during the holidays. Even today, I still get a little depressed. Perhaps that’s why I always bought my little ones more gifts than I should have. I wanted my kids to have a list of presents to talk about on that first day back to school.

My most memorable Christmas was the first Christmas after my divorce. Brian was twelve and Tami was ten. I worked for Blue Cross, making a mere whisper over a pittance. Needless to say, finances were tight. There wasn’t enough money for both a tree and presents. I decided to make sure my kids had presents and explained to them we wouldn’t be putting up a tree that year. They took the news in stride, seemingly unaffected by what I felt was devastating news. Knowing how much I enjoyed colorful Christmas lights, they were more concerned about me than themselves.

Christmas Eve afternoon, I was busy folding laundry when I heard my daughter’s excited voice. I looked outside and saw her dragging pieces of an artificial Christmas tree through the back gate. I went outside to see what she was doing.

Running toward me with a wide smile on her face, she called, “Look, mom! I found a Christmas tree.”

Skeptical as to where she might have ‘found’ this tree, I asked where she got it.

“Someone threw it away. It was in a garbage can down the back alley.”

I reached for the tree, inspecting its remains. It was a little worse for wear, certainly ready for the trash, but I could see how happy she was with her discovery. She would be disappointed if I rejected her gift.

“Go find your brother and we’ll put up our Christmas tree,” I said.

The finished tree was approximately five feet high. The only problem was the gaping holes where greenery should have been. Several branches were missing. Tami went back to the alley where she found the tree, but couldn’t find the elusive pieces.

“No problem,” I said. “We’ll use the branches from the back to fill in the holes and hide the bare side of the tree in the corner.”

That tree was the scrawniest, most bedraggled tree I have ever seen. Yet, it was almost pretty after a few boxes of tinsel, ornaments, and three strings of lights. Once we were finished decorating, we stood back to admire our handiwork.

That night, after Brian plugged in the lights, the tree’s defects seemed to magically disappear. I looked down at the pride on my daughter’s face and knew I would never forget that moment.

Even though we didn’t have money for a fancy tree, expensive presents, or a table filled with goodies, we were blessed with a special Christmas memory, one to cherish in our hearts forever. We kept that poor bedraggled tree for several more Christmas holidays, eventually replacing it with a fuller, taller version. But that tree will always be my favorite.

The garbage can tree remains a part of our family history. It gave us a story we still drag out and dust off when we are lucky enough to be together. With each laughter-filled telling that poor abandoned tree gets smaller, uglier, and more bedraggled, yet the Christmas of 1980 remains one of our most beautiful memories.