A Christmas Medley

“Said the king to his people everywhere,
Listen to what I say.”

“Brennan, after we’re finished eating, I want you and Nathan to drag in my Christmas tree from the garage,” Mom announced as she served us all slices of ham.

Brennan gritted his teeth as he looked at Nathan. “Mom, my friends do not want to help us put up our tree.”

Nathan, ever affable, cut in, “Oh that’s okay; I don’t mind.”

Brennan glared at Nathan and then turned to Mom again. “Okay, I don’t want to help us put up our tree.”

“Do it anyway.”

“Geez, Mom, you don’t have to be so bossy.”

“I’m the boss. I’ll say what I want and you will listen to what I say. Besides, all you have to do is bring it into the house. Remember, last year you and I dragged it out to the garage still put together?”

“To say nothing of the lights and tinsel that you left on it,” Tara added dryly as she passed me the milk.

“All you have to do,” Mom continued as if she hadn’t been interrupted, “is bring it into the house. That’s it.”

“I don’t want to.”

“The girls will do your share of the dishes for you,” Mom bargained.

“What?” I piped up for the first time. “If that’s the deal, I’ll bring that stupid tree in for you, and Brennan can do my share of the dishes.”

“It’ll take you two seconds,” Mom continued, ignoring me, “and then you’ll have the whole night free to play shout and swear and kill people.”

“It’s called X-Box, Mom. If we don’t shout and swear, we’re doing it wrong.”

“Um, hello? I said I would bring it in,” I said again.

Mom gave me a cool once over. “I don’t think so,” was all she said.

“What?” I asked highly offended. “Why not?”

“You’re the shortest of all of us. Last year when Brennan and I moved it, we could hardly do it. If it was hard for me, imagine how hard it will be for you.”

“I don’t know,” Tara cut in. “You’re what? Three-quarters of an inch taller than Rix? It seems to me that it has more to do with how strong you are rather than how tall. And Mom, you’re the biggest wimp in the world—”

“That’s true,” Mom admitted.

“—while Erica, on the other hand, is freakishly strong.”

“Thank you for the show of sister solidarity!” I said “And it’s true, Mom: I am freakishly strong. Everyone says so. Now let me prove it to you by bringing in the tree.”

“Who’s gonna help you?”

“Nathan.”

“Erica!” Brennan scolded. “Don’t be volunteering my friend’s services.”

“Oh, he doesn’t mind.”

“No, Erica. Brennan and Nathan will do it, and they’ll do it right now,” Mom said meaningfully.
With grumbles and complaints (Brennan) and affable acceptance (Nathan), the boys left their plates on the table and went to the garage.

“Patrick?” my mom said to my dad. “You’re awfully quiet.”

Long pause.

“Patrick? Say something!”

My dad heaved a sigh. Then he said, “Well, at least it’ll get the tree out of the garage where you run into it with the car every day after work.”

My mom winced as if the memory physically pained her.

As the boys began maneuvering the tree through the front door my dad made his exit into the sanctuary of his basement workshop.

“Look!” Tara whispered to me. “They’re bringing the tree in from the stump up.”

“Mom!” I cried, still highly affronted. “Look! They’re knocking the branches off on the doorway. This operation is like the blind leading the blind. Now if I had been in charge—”

“Good work, boys! Good work! Set it up right there in front of the window. Oh, good job. Wait, wait—it’s gonna fall. There we go. Okay, thanks, guys! There! Doesn’t that tree look beautiful?”

“O Christmas tree, O Christmas tree,
How lovely are your branches!”

Once they had deposited the tree, the boys scampered off to their video game, leaving the three of us standing in the living room. Two of us were looking at the tree dubiously and the third was staring with anticipation.

“Umm…,” Tara began.

“I know! Wasn’t it such a great idea to leave it set up? Now all we have to do is the fun part. You know, hang up decorations and put the angel on top.”

I corrected, “Well, after we make sure the lights all work and straighten the branches and …”

Tara added, “Mom, not to rain on your parade, but I told you last January that this was a stupid idea. I mean, look at the tree. It’s … leaning.”

My mom tilted her head. “Is it?” She looked to me for confirmation.

“It’s definitely leaning.”

“It’s the leaning tree of Pisa.”

“And … where’s the top?” I ventured.

“The top of … oh my God! The top of the tree is missing!”

Tara was underneath the branches looking up. “Wait! Here it is. It definitely snapped off.”

“Oh what a laugh it would have been,
If Daddy had only seen Mommy kissing Santa Claus last night.”

Thirty seconds later, my mom march back into the living room with my silent father in tow. He was armed with a drill. Sixty seconds later, the top of the tree was drilled back where it belonged and my father was safely back in his workshop.

Tara settled in for a long evening on the couch. I took a more hands-on approach and began helping my mom straighten out the branches.

When the branches were all back in their sockets and my mom’s excitement had begun to rub off on me, I said with tremulous Christmas spirit, “Okay, try the lights! Let’s see if they work!”
We held our breath while she plugged them in. A thousand twinkling blue stars lit up the living room. “They work! The lights work! It’s a Christmas miracle!”

“Yes, your tree lighting up compares to the immaculate conception and birth of baby Jesus,” Tara said drowsily from the couch.

“Quiet, you!” Mom shushed.

Tara rolled over and dozed off.

"Rockin around the Christmas tree at the Christmas party hop,
Everyone dancing merrily in the new old-fashioned way."

“Wow, Mom! That looks great!”

“It really does. … Although … does it still look like it’s leaning to you?”

“Just a bit. It’s much better than it was.”

“Okay, I’m gonna try to bend it back toward you. You hold that side in case it starts to fall.”

We braced ourselves on either side and amidst much shrieking managed to straighten it. We stepped back simultaneously to admire our work, just in time to see the tree topple to the floor.

“You two are rock stars,” Tara said before falling back asleep.

“Said the little lamb to the shepherd boy,
Do you hear what I hear?”

“Here are the rules of Trivial Pursuit,” I began very seriously. “I don’t do sports questions.”

“Neither do I,” responded Tara.

“And I only do sports questions,” Brennan added.

“Agreed. And so we begin.”

While we busied ourselves passing out chips and arranging our pie pieces on the board, sounds of Christmas spirit drifted in from the living room. “Son of a bitch!”

“Mom?” Tara called hesitantly. “How’s it going in there?”

“… Fine …”

“What are you doing?”

“Just hanging the decorations on the tree. Everything’s fine. Goddammit!”

“Aah, there’s some Christmas spirit,” Brennan said. Raising his voice, he called, “Do you need some help?”

“No. Everything’s under control. I’m just putting the angel on the top of the tree.”

Dad appeared from the depths of the basement, and the four of us wandered into the living room. Mom, decked out in her Christmas pajamas, had the overhead lights off while she decorated the tree, with candles blazing and the tree twinkling. We slumped in the chairs and let the spirit of the season wash upon us.

“Silent night, holy night,
All is calm, all is bright,
Sleep in heavenly peace,
Sleep in heavenly peace.”