December 22, 2008

One Of A Thousand Christmas Stories of Mine.

Every Christmas my family would wake up bright and early, usually around November, and drive the hour and a half trip up to Flagstaff. We'd have a big breakfast at the same Denny's and then we'd drive deep into the woods where we'd march thru the snow and cut down a HUGE tree, a BIG tree, a REAL tree. We'd bring it home and it would often times barely fit inside the house. We would always have the biggest and best tree around, the only tree we knew whose tip would touch the top of the house.

When i was a kid I LOVED the days we would go get our tree.

Then I started getting older, more of a teenager. My older brother stopped going with us. And I started finding it hard for me to wake up early enough. The last time I slept the whole way to Flagstaff, ate our breakfast, slept the whole way to the woods, and when it came time to get out of the car and find our tree I was too cold and decided to stay in the car. My dad got so angry with me that he decided that would be the LAST time we ever went to Flagstaff for our tree. And it was.

Now I'm almost 32. I have a wife and two kids and a small, fake tree. The kids love our tree and love decorating it. We lite a fire and sip hot cocoa and listen to holiday music and take turns putting decorations on the tree.

And every year I look at our small fake tree and realize that I will never live up to my father. Or to my own expectations.

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