The Talking Christmas Tree

When Jamie was about three, he loved to personify inanimate objects. (Or maybe it was me who loved doing that…I’m not quite sure.) Anyway, he and the Christmas Tree became very good friends that year. (The graphic on the right is Jamie’s portrait of his friend, the Tree.) Jamie and the Tree had many long and heartfelt discussions over the Christmas season, with me providing the Tree’s voice. Unfortunately, when it came time for the tree to get hauled out to the curb on garbage day, Jamie was devastated and had a total meltdown.

“I LOVE my Tree,” he sobbed from the top of the stairs as I single-handedly attempted to lug the fat, dried-out tree down three flights of stairs, “He’s my very best friend in the whole world!”

“Oh God, what have I done?” I thought to myself, “Why did I have to make him fall in love with a stupid tree?”

I did my best to say comforting mommy-type things from under the tree, but nothing I said could un-break his heart.

“I don’t want my best friend to go in the garbage truck,” he wept, “It’s smelly and yucky in there, and I LOVE him! I NEED him! He’ll be so cold and sad!”

Sometimes a good mom has to think up a good lie in a hurry, and often under difficult circumstances. I wrestled the tree around the first of six narrow corners, while it scratched and bit and jabbed me with its needles. I grabbed it by the throat and shoved it up against the wall.

“Say something,” I muttered to the tree, “And make it good.”

The tree trembled and shed some needles: he knew I meant business.

“I’m not going in the garbage truck,” Tree sang out cheerfully, “Santa is coming in his sleigh to pick up all the trees and take us to a special party!”

“He is?” asked Jamie, still sobbing.

“Yeah!” said Tree, “I’m going in Santa’s sleigh, all the way to the North Pole! I’m so excited, I can hardly wait!”

Jamie stopped weeping and crept down the stairs, where I still had the tree pinned to the wall. Still emotional, Jamie wrapped his arms around the Tree. “I love you Tree,” he said shakily, “Have fun at the party.”

“I love you too!” exclaimed Tree.

“Goodbye Tree,” said Jamie bravely, “I’ll miss you so much!”

“I’ll write you a letter!” Tree promised.

I finished hauling the tree outside, and dumped him unceremoniously in a snowbank several houses down the street (I didn’t want Jamie to see him in the morning).

“You damned well better write to him,” I snarled.

A week later, a letter arrived in the mail, addressed to Jamie.

Dear Jamie,

How are you doing? I am very good. The Christmas Tree party was so much fun and I saw some of my old friends from the forest and my favourite cousin, Bruce Spruce. We played Tree Tag and Needle in the Haystack. We drank special drinks with cherries in them. Some of the older trees drank a little pine wine, but I didn’t: I had spruce juice.

Thank you so much for picking me to be your Tree. I’ll never forget you. Please pick my brother Zeuss Spruce to be your Christmas Tree next year. He’s not as big as me yet, but he will grow.

Thank you Jamie.

Love,
Tree

Sometimes a mom’s gotta do what a mom’s gotta do.