Columbia Star

1963        Celebrating 60 Years      2023

The Magic of the Holidays…and Advil

50–Something



 

 

I made the mistake of letting a slightly exasperated groan escape when one of my children suggested we get our Christmas tree the Sunday after Thanksgiving. I’m no Grinch and I certainly wasn’t trying to “Bah Humbug” this moment but getting the Christmas tree and putting out the associated decorations is no easy task…at least it hasn’t been in the past. My groan was an unconscious response to my kid’s suggestion.

“ What’s the problem?” she asked clearly perplexed by my apparent lack of Christmas spirit.

“It’s just such a process,” was my admittedly Grinch-like response.

My middle child is actually a 21-year-old college coed, but her face was no less pitiful when she asked, “You think getting a Christmas tree is a process?” She still clearly believes in the magic of Christmas. I believe in the magic of Advil because I’m usually chasing a few down with eggnog after the decorations are finally done.

That’s because my family does not believe in “Charlie Brown” Christmas trees. We’re more of the Clark W. Griswold variety. I don’t have to rip one out by the roots at a farm or make do with a tree from our front yard, but we typically get one that’s way bigger than our house (or I) can handle. So I have to yank that monster off the top of our car, drag it in the house, and balance it in our tree stand all the while praying I don’t spend New Year’s in traction.

When the tree is finally up, I have to begin my expedition into the attic to find all the decorations. Somehow, no matter how many times I carefully place the boxes so I will have easy access the next Christmas, those boxes end up in the back of the attic behind a year’s worth of stuff. So, I have to crawl and contort myself like Indiana Jones ducking saw blades to get to the Holy Grail.

When I finally emerge from the attic, I have to get all those boxes downstairs and then hang the wreaths on the front of the house. The wreath hanging process wouldn’t be so bad if I ever got it right. The wife inevitably has to correct me, and the process starts over.

Finally, once all the decorations are out and in their correct places on the tree, throughout the house, and on the windows, I have to lug the empty boxes back into the attic.

“So, yes,” I said to my Little Cindy Lou Who, “it is a process.”

She looked at me with those puppy dog eyes and said, “Dad, we can help.”

My less sympathetic soon- to- be 18- year- old son also reminded me that he has actually been the one to carry the tree in the house the last few years.

And what happened then?

Well in Maddockville they say… that dear old dad’s heart grew three sizes that day. And despite warnings from the cardiologist for such a condition, Dad was surely on board with this new family tradition. He could reach for the eggnog and leave the Advil where it normally stays, all the while wishing everyone Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays!

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