The Most Perfect Christmas Tree

Dear Boo and Bubble,

Your mother was born on September 23, 1975 in one of the operating rooms at Cherokee County Memorial Hospital in Gaffney, SC. That means she was only three months old for her first Christmas – just starting to smile and push herself up while on her stomach. Needless to say, the holiday came and went without any concern on her part.

By the next year, she was 15 months old and much more advanced – walking everywhere, talking a little – but still not cognizant of the nuances of Christmas. We had moved from our first home at 231 East Montgomery Street, a duplex that we rented in the downtown area of Gaffney, to 126 Brittany Road, a house that we bought located in the Canterbury Subdivision out towards Interstate 85.

Canterbury proved to be a perfect match for our little family with lots of children and great neighbors. As Christmas time rolled around, it became a wonderland with decorations appearing in almost every window of every house on every street. Your mom loved to ride around and look at all of it.

One day at the beginning of December, Captain came home early from work. He bolted through the carport door into the kitchen, his eyes beaming.

“Mary Kathleen (that's what she went by back then), come here,” he called out excitedly.

She ran barreling into the kitchen, squealing at the sight of him.

“I think we need to go get our Christmas tree, don't you?”

She didn't completely understand, but Captain's enthusiasm let her know something inviting was in the offing. “Yes....” she answered, using probably one tenth of her fledgeling vocabulary.

We put on jackets and piled into the car. After a celebratory dinner at McDonald's, we rode down Floyd Baker Boulevard, the main four-lane road coming into Gaffney from the interstate, and scoped out the tree lots that dotted both sides of the road. Captain pulled into one that appeared to have a good selection. I held your mom in my arms while he perused the trees, standing them up, shaking them, and twirling them around to make sure they were uniform in shape.

“Come here,” he called out from somewhere in the middle of the lot. “I think I've found it.”

I put your mom down and grabbed her hand. We wandered through the rows in the direction of his voice.

“Here...here I am.”

And there Captain stood, bolstering a beautiful Frazier Fir, not too big, but perfectly symmetrical.

“What do you think, Mary Kathleen?”

She dashed towards him.

“You like it?”

Almost shyly, her little hands reached out to fondle the green, poised needles.

“I think it's gorgeous!” I seconded Captain's choice as I came up from behind.

We paid for the tree and, with the help of the lot owner, tied it to the top of our car. By the time we made the short drive back to Canterbury, it was approaching your mom's bed time. Captain leaned over to me and whispered “let's put Mary Kathleen to bed before we bring the tree into the house and decorate it.”

I concurred.

Your mom and I went back to her room. She had quite a selection of nightgowns, but for the occasion I picked out a white one with a red bow at the neck, red buttons down the front and red-fringed lace at the wrists. After brushing her teeth, we read a story and she went straight to bed.

All the while, Captain was out in the carport taking the tree off the top of the car and bringing it inside to the family room.

Once we were sure she was asleep, Captain pulled the attic stairs down and climbed up to retrieve the box that held our tree stand, ornaments and lights. We spent the rest of the evening decorating the tree, sipping on a little “bad juice” as we did. Not to be braggadocios, but the finished product was impressive. Captain turned off all the room lights. We admired our handiwork which inspired the clink of a Christmas toast before we headed to bed ourselves.

The next morning, Captain and I awoke before your mom. We were sipping coffee in the breakfast nook when she made noises from her crib that signaled she was up and ready to start the day.

“You go get Mary Kathleen and I'll turn on the tree lights, okay?” Captain said.

“Okay.”

I went to her room and pulled her up out of the crib.

“Good morning, you,” I cooed as I pecked her on the cheek.

I set her on the floor and she scampered down the hall, her little nightgown billowing behind. She rounded the corner into the family room and stopped – stopped dead – at the sight of the glowing Christmas tree in the corner. Instinctively, she drew her hands to her mouth in absolute awe. She then clutched them to her chest as she approached the delicate branches laden with red, green, blue and white lights, spiraling ever upwards to a pinnacle where a silver star sat majestically overseeing the room. Delicate ornaments reflected an incandescent glow from each bulb.

Breathlessly, your mom went around and around the tree, hugging herself. It was, in fact, the most beautiful thing she had ever seen in her short little life. Captain and I stood there, equally mesmerized at the scene. The pure innocence of her utter joy brought tears to my eyes.

There have been over 35 Christmases since then and we've had a tree for every one. But, forever in my mind, that tree will always be the perfect Christmas tree.