It stood on the porch, perched against the wall.
It was the first Christmas tree the family had ever bought and the boys, about 8 and 10 (if memory serves) were excited.
On previous Christmases their mother had draped strings of tiny lights around the plants in their apartment’s living room. It was pretty and festive. The boys didn’t know any better.
But age brings conformity and the boys were demanding to “be like the other families.” They wanted a tree.
And so they drove with their father to a suburban lot and spent an inordinately long time selecting the right tree.
They carted it home and propped it on the porch.
“We’ll decorate it tomorrow,” said their mother.
That day the boys rushed home from school but the tree was gone.
“Where’s the tree?” said the younger child.
“I gave it away,” said the mother. “I gave it to the boy who delivers groceries.”
The kids were speechless. Tears began to appear.
“He said it was such a nice tree and that his family couldn’t afford to buy one this year so I gave it to him,” said the mother.
The boys didn’t get it, then. But they do now.
Happy Holidays.
