I
was five or six years old when I realized that I should have my own
Christmas tree.
My
friend Mike and I looked all over the neighborhood for a good tree.
It had to be a pine tree (obviously). It had to be small enough to
carry home, but big enough to decorate. Most importantly, it had to
be on a vacant lot so we wouldn't get in trouble. It seemed like we
looked forever. We went further from home than I ever remember having
gone without Mom or Dad. Finally, two or three streets over from my
house, we found the right tree. It was about two feet tall, and it probably looked like Charlie Brown's tree. I loved it.
I
realized that my plan for getting the tree had been short-sighted
when we started to cut it down. It's hard to cut down a tree when you
don't have an ax. Or a knife. Or anything sharp. Going home wouldn't
solve the problem because, even at that age, I could foresee how the
conversation would go.
“Mom,
can I have an ax?”
“No.”
What
to do? We looked around for a sharp rock or something, and found a
short piece of pipe that had been abandoned in a ditch. Perfect!
After a few minutes of bludgeoning and wrestling, we managed to
separate the tree from its roots. I carried the tree home and Mike helped me set it
up on the deacon's bench that served as my toy chest. I decorated it
with tinsel and a few blue ornaments from the family tree.
Silver and blue have been the colors of Christmas for me ever
since.
Jack
“Charles Schultz” Parker
