One of the joys of Christmas for me, when I was younger (pre-27), was the Christmas tree my Dad erected in our home every year.
Dad ventured into the cold to scope out a tree and cut it down himself. Funny thing is, and this was a point of humor for my brothers and sister and me, Dad all too often brought home a tree that might have looked better had it remained in the wild among its sister trees.
One year, the tree stood in the corner (barely) in the living room and it had to be secured to the wall from the two walls lest if tumble over. Another year, the short squat tree would not stand on its own so we leaned it against the wall.
Good thing Dad was a good sport because we had some good laughs with this annual tradition.
No matter the tree, however, it was decorated with love and that is really what matters. Not the gifts that sat beneath it but when we gathered on Christmas Eve to be together, that was the joy of Christmas.
I haven't put a tree up in more than 15 years; I kinda miss enjoying Christmas.
I definitely miss my Dad.
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