A Charlie Brown Christmas Tree….

Posted by admin - 11/12/12 at 03:12 pm

Imagine life as a tiny pine.
Your filament roots push tenderly into the soil. You ease out of your core, seek the moisture and nutrients needed to survive, on instinct, like the baby seeks the mother’s breast.   Slowly, gingerly, despite the rocks, worms and other varmints, you take hold. The trunk forms. The stock strengthens. You begin to burst forth, greet the sun, reach for more.
The foliage scratches the air. You drink in the carbon dioxide, grow to where you sway in the breeze, watch the silly humans do their dance, wonder about your fate. Will you outlast them? Will they chop you down? Will you become a flitting, seasonal fancy that disappears at the turn of a new leaf—not yours, of course—and returns so quickly to the compost heap or the trash dump or the once-a-year bonfire that gives an extra special piney scent to the roasting marshmallows???
Wait. You’re not the perfect pine. You don’t fit. Your branches sway out like palm trees that fall lazily in quiet semi-circles, no rigid order, no structure on which to hang pop-corn or icicles or balls that can’t fall without splintering the floor…
You’re a Norfolk pine, a different pine, a slow-growing, slug-like, when-I-get-around-to-it-pine that sprouts a branch haphazardly, without direction, getting off track and top heavy in this direction or that. What is YOUR fate?
Ahhh. The human folly kicks in. Why do we need a Christmas tree when we have you? Who cares about what the kids say? Why should we listen when they mock you, our loyal, long-term friend? Do they really think we like the sap on our fingers and the needles under our nails—the stand that never works and the ugly apron that serves no purpose other than to hide our poor workmanship in holding your recently hacked brother upright?
Welcome to a second chance, a space to be all that you can be and then more, the tinsel that dresses you, the fairies and leprechauns that play among your droopiest limbs, the mandatory decorations from generations gone by, the favorite ornaments—an entire pageantry that you now star in as the center piece.
Wait again. What about the mockery from the youngsters? “This is not right. We need a real tree. You can’t do this. That is plain wrong.”
Ahh again, to the benefits of old age and treachery, victors over youth and vitality, at least on an odd December moon…if they only knew that we don’t want to go to a slapped together temporary dirt parking lot, haggle over price, spend our hard-earned shekels for a short-lived, got-to-soon-part-with needle spreader that makes an endless mess and causes the cat to vomit in the corner…
What about the noble Norfolk pine, our friend, the daily partner that greets the day at our side, yearning for the same sun rays that make us smile?
What if we just called you the Charlie Brown tree, an identity indisputable with your droopy, unorganized branches and star that can’t stand straight, barely together, like Lucy pulling the football as Charlie tries to kick?
Live a little longer, another year, another laugh from the old folk who dodged the annual tree-on-the-car-roof and smiled over eggnog.
Welcome back again this year, Charlie Brown.

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