There was an incident recently in a courthouse in Southern Ontario where a judge ordered that a Christmas tree be removed. Anyway, that provoked a whole debate on the subject. I was driving home, listening to this debate on CBC radio and it suddenly occurred to me that one perspective was being overlooked. And, hence, the following story came into existence. I thought you all might enjoy it.
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A Moment Of Glory
By ML Thompson
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Once upon a time, there was a little tree. He watched in awe as every year the crowds would come, admiring the bigger, fuller trees around him. Young couples in love. Business people. Older couples, holding hands and moving slowly down the brightly lit paths. Single people. Busy people who rushed in and picked a tree without much more than a second thought. People who took time to look at every tree. Families with children, playing and laughing, eyes sparkling, candy canes in sticky hands. Finally, every one of them would find a tree and the proprietor would come, axe in hand to cut down the selected tree. It was an exciting time of year.
Then came the year when he figured he was big enough that they might notice him, that he might be chosen. He stood up as proud and tall as he could when the people came, only to be overlooked. They would stop and notice the small space where the branches in his backside didn’t quite meet and move on. Year after year their reaction was the same.
Still, he didn’t give up. Every year, he soaked up as much water as he could. He stretched his branches out to reach the sun, allowing it to work its magic and again he waited. He waited for that time of year when smiling faces would again come to make their choices.
And then it happened. Not exactly the way he would have planned. He’d always imagined himself going home with the little people as he liked to call them. The ones who giggled and laughed and played in the snow as the big people with them picked a tree. Still, the woman had seemed nice in her long, winter coat. So he’d stood up as proud and tall as he could, positioning his branches to keep her from seeing the slight hole where they didn’t quite cover his backside. Still, she spotted it. She moved the branches aside for a moment before allowing them to fall back in place.
She circled him slowly, looking him up and down before seeming to give a small nod. Then, without saying a word, she left. He sighed. She’d been put off by the small hole in his backside - just like everyone else. He’d failed again. His branches began to droop. Another year and another rejection. The snow trickled slowly to the ground from the ends of his branches.
Suddenly, she was back. This time with the axe man in tow. He watched in disbelief, expecting her to deviate from her course, to choose a tree on either side of him. But her path was true and a moment later she stopped directly in front of him. His branches perked up as he listened to her talk to the axe man. He hardly dared to breath, hardly dared to hope. Had his time come at last?
The axe man seemed to question the woman’s choice, showing her his flaw. The little tree cringed, trying to avoid the hands revealing his imperfection. But the woman simply shook her head insisting. He stood up tall again, pride flooding through him. She wanted him. She really wanted him. And he determined in that single moment that he would be the best Christmas tree he could possibly be. He would do it for her. He would make the woman proud to show him off to the world.
He would die, of course. He knew that. Even as the axe landed painfully against his trunk, he knew this was his last year. He would begin to die the moment he was cut down. But in the weeks left to him, he would have a moment of glory such as few trees ever experienced in a lifetime. It was the most glorious swan song - and he was determined that this was one Christmas no one would ever forget. He would make it memorable for them. They would look back on this year, which they would nickname the year of the tree, and smile as they remembered all the joy and beauty he had given them.
Soon he was being loaded onto a truck. He tucked his branches up under him, trying to assist those moving him in not damaging them. He had to look his best. He was taken to a large building. He was surprised at first. The building seemed deserted as they removed him from the truck and took him inside.
Once he was carried through the doors, the woman commanded them to stop, directing them over to a wall in the entrance way where an area had been cleared. He was set up and moved around until the small imperfection in his backside was against the wall. He breathed a sigh of relief, knowing they had taken great care in ensuring that his best side was facing forward.
Boxes were sitting around and he could see a number of ornaments sticking out of them and excitement began building in his chest. For him. All those wonderful, colorful ornaments were just for him. He’d never felt more special.
He was set up and the woman worked for hours. He could see his reflection in the windows when finally, after all her tender, careful care, she turned on all the tiny, multicolored lights. His branches swelled with pride when he saw how beautiful all of her tender ministrations had made him. The lights sparkled, reflecting off all the baubles and balls, giving him an almost magical appearance.
She smiled. He liked that. She seemed pleased and he was proud that he could give her so much pleasure. She stood there for a long time before finally turning off the lights and picking up her coat.
“Good night,” she said quietly to him before turning and heading out of the building, locking the door behind her.
The next morning, he woke early to the sound of a key in the same lock. Moments later, the soft lights that had been left on the previous night changed into a brightly lit room. A couple of women spotted him, coming over to comment on how much he seemed to liven up the room. He stood tall, doing everything possible to look as beautiful as he could - determined to give them pleasure.
“I’m going to plug in the lights,” one of the women said.
He was pleased. He knew he was even more beautiful when his lights were on. He stood there, waiting for them to ooh and aah over him. He was delighted when they did. He was even more gratified by the smiles on their faces as they headed away. He had done that. He had made them smile.
The morning was an exciting experience. Slowly, more and more people came past him to get into the building. Some would stop and take a moment to admire him. Others would rush past, giving him barely more than a brief glance. Still, he stood up proud and tall, trying to reflect peace on earth and love to all, whether they admired him or not. His greatest wish was to make all of them happy.
Then as the morning came to an end, he saw her. She was older and looked as if she belonged there. He saw the frown on her face as she regarded him and he stood up taller, trying to change the look on her face to a smile. He wanted her to smile. He thought she would look pretty if she smiled. And he did everything he could to make that happen.
Still, without as much as an upward quirk of her lips, she headed away. He sighed, slightly defeated. He had wanted to make her morning brighter, happier, but whatever troubled her had not been abated by looking at his multi-colored lights and cheerful baubles and balls.
He perked up when a moment later she returned with two others. One was the woman who had brought him here the previous night. He stood up tall, hoping to make the woman proud for choosing him. Maybe he even had another chance to make the woman who seemed so sad, smile.
“It’s got to be moved,” the older woman said. “It’s offensive.”
Offensive? For a moment, he stood there, not able to believe what he had heard. Then shame flooded him. He was offensive. He’d thought the exposed area where his branches didn’t meet at the back had been hidden from view. But apparently he had been wrong. His entire existence had been spent waiting for this moment where he could shine like the sun for a single instant in time. He’d given his life for this moment. And he had failed. He was offensive. His heart broke. He’d died for nothing. He was simply offensive.
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The End
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(c) Marylynn Thompson, 2006
