O Christmas Tree: My Long and Winding Road

On my first year of Christmas, my true love gave to me a squash racket.

It was, to the best of my recollection, my first Christmas present — ever.

I didn’t know what to do. So, I ran off to New York and bought her a dress, upon the recommendation of the sales lady at one of those shops on Fifth Avenue. I’m not sure she ever wore it.

The following year, I’m into it. My business partner and friend, Kevin Buckley, and I created a faux radio station contest tape called, immodestly, “The Dream Date of a Lifetime.” Not sure we covered all that was in the announcement — like ice staking at Rockefeller Center — but we did see Pippin and went to a nice village restaurant.

A few years later, when we were semi-co-habitating, I tried to keep to one hard and fast life rule — no Christmas tree. Peggy came up with a clever work-around. A fern plant with a couple of colored balls on it. Who could say no.

As courting turned to marriage, compromises were inevitable. Up went a real, recently-live tree in our Milford home and then, much too quickly, crashing down it went. Broken ornaments everywhere. God was getting back at me.

It took a few more years and few more downed trees to get it right. I needed my non-Jewish friends to show me the light — how to hoist it up, tighten the pegs on the stand, balance it off. Unlike the song, these trees were not a few of my favorite things.

Every year, there’s was a new tree calamity. I would write song parodies and the family would sing and laugh.

As the years rolled by, my aversion to the holiday and its iconic symbol slowly melted away.

The getting-the-tree-up problem was addressed when the neighborhood tree seller kindly plopped down the tree in its place, never to fall again. I increasingly got into the spirit — putting trains around the tree at midnight, getting up early in the morning when Peggy and Danny were nestled all snug in their beds, starting a fire and “magically” placing miniature Mr. Christmas amusement park rides on a living room table — a new ride each year.

Now, we’re in our new home celebrating Covid Christmas. Just the two of us. 48 years after the squash racket and the never-worn dress.

I’m again, nervously but happily, putting up the tree and decorating it myself. I brought up the snowmen — and snowwomen — for the new mantle in the living room. Without a prompt, I’m ordering up Christmas tunes on Alexa and creating my own jazzy, classic rock playlists.

But, the biggest change is that I find that this year, particularly, the concept of good will and cheer the holiday brings — and even the pit in my stomach that our son can’t be with us — is really a good thing. We need this. And sure, we need this all year. But, if Christmas — in the secular sense — creates that extra spark of niceness, and gives us a tiny pause to think about that, then that’s a good thing.

Merry Christmas.

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O Holy Night by Trombone Shorty

(Note: This is video from Studio 60, recorded right after Katrina, very moving and apropos)

I’ll be Home for Christmas by Leslie Odom, Jr.

Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas by Tony Bennett