Year after year I'm admonished by family and friends for not having a holiday spirit. I swear I have one, it just um... manifests itself differently.During Thanksgiving dinner I listened skeptically as my sisters planned their Black Friday incursions with military precision. You guys don't know the meaning of Christmas, I lamented. I remember when Christmas was Christmas, not some stupid bargain hunting expedition. It's not about how many Xmas cards one sends or the number of presents one gets, it's about doing good deeds. You know, good cheer to all mankind and all than stuff.
Oh really Mr. Smartypants, tell us about your good deeds. When was the last time you got the family tree Mom asked. Er... 2007? Yes indeedy - 2007 it was, I responded. Wrong you cheapskate, it was 2005, my wife chimed in. (How I managed to stay under the radar this long is a wonder even to me).
Hey, I always pitch in. I help every year, I protested. Lots of raised eyebrows and a howls of laughter. I knew what was coming - cheapskate profiling. A finely honed and well practiced family tradition of zinging and razzing.
The table talk centered on whose turn it is to procure the tree and delegation of general duties. Mom - KD (kitchen duty); Dad - EDD (exterior decoration duty); sisters - KD (kitchen duty) and IDD (interior decorations duty); brothers - B&WP (beer & wine procurement); Wife - KOWFGOEND (keeping ole Will from getting on everyone's nerves duty).
Ah yes, dinner... I was being targeted. I sensed it was something planned. The pressure built and it was unrelenting - it came from all sides - from Mom (yes Mom!), the wife, my siblings, even the nieces and nephews. Dad's too busy trying to recruit volunteers for the Xmas lighting - no takers. Then the zinger of all zingers. Uncle Will, Mommy says you're really cheap. That from my 5-year old niece little Sarah. Touche Sis! Wait until you see what I put in your Christmas stocking.
By the end of dinner I was a broken man (financially speaking of course - I paid the kids to get lost). Alright, alright, I'll do it, I burst out! For the record I maintain it wasn't the pressure - I'm stubborn to a fault. Rather the warm Christmas (punch) spirit I felt flowing through my brain.
A few days later we met at dawn on a blustery Sunday morning at Mom's house. I loaded up the car with my shopping consultants - the nieces and nephews actually. Our mission on this cold Worcester morning was to procure a Christmas Tree. This year it was coming out of my pocket.
We cruised around Worcester - Greendale, Burncoat, Gold Star Blvd., Main South. Plenty of lots, but no activity. Nothing's open. This sucks, I said. Come on - it's the crack of dawn - whatcha expect, my wife retorted. Normal people are sleeping at this hour.
By the time we hit Mill Street the kids were whining for some hot chocolate. No go guys -we're on an mission from Grandma. She needs this tree fast or else Christmas will be canceled. Ya gotta focus - OK?, I said. Yeah right Einstein. You forget, you're talking to a bunch of 5th graders. Logic escapes them. You tricked them into this, so now you're paying.Then we hit Park Ave. and as we approached Chandler St. at light speed, I caught a glimpse of a sign - CHRISTMAS TREES. Bingo! I slammed the brakes. Managed a 180 on two wheels - hefty squeals from the kids - and brought the car safely to a halt in front of Ernie's Discount Trees. Uncle Will do that again, little Sarah squealed. My white faced wife gave me The Look. Hey there's movement in there - it's open, I yelled. The EAGLE has landed!
Let's get this over with real fast OK guys, I said. The doors flew open and the kids hit the ground running, swarming the lot like a hoard of ants on a tootsie roll on a blistering summer sidewalk.
Ernie, if that's his real name, greeted us with a cheery good morning. Well, as good as one can conjure up at 8:08am on a freaking cold morning. Where are the cheap trees, I inquired. Ernie smiled wryly and with a sweeping gesture of his arm - there they are. I pointed to my wife and said, hey pal she's only got twenty bucks. So be nice. Ernie shook his head and gave a wry smile.
The kids were focused - searching for acceptable, ahem, cheap candidates. Mrs. Will was now in command and barked orders. She sized up each and every tree the kids hauled over for inspection. Extolling it's virtues or lack thereof. I kept looking at my watch and moaned - loud enough that Ernie might feel an iota of sympathy with our plight. Hey buddy, I called out to Ernie, where's the free coffee? He pointed down Park Ave to Dunkins. OK, so he has a sense of humor too.
After 30 long cold minutes the kids lined up the finalists, ranging from $30 to $40! Definitely PB&J's for Christmas, I blurted out. As Mrs. Will turned away, my nephew, Junior, sneaked in my choice. That stunt cost me $5. It was an admittedly wretched example of a tree, but for 30 bucks... hey its the thought that counts.Now it was time to put the screws on Ernie. Come on man, I hate PB&J's. The kids hate PB&J's. Everybody hates PB&J's. Make my Christmas. Come on - $25 bucks right?
Ernie looked at my wife, her big brown eyes frozen in their sockets, and then the kids, their lips blue and teeth clattering. The frozen air was tense. All eyes were on Ernie. Come on pal, make our day. He gave the nod. Sold, 25 bucks!
You're a scholar and a gentlemen sir, I professed. My wife hugged me - relief obviously. She was worried my stubborn streak was gonna kick in, knowing we could have been there another couple hours haggling. The kids hollered Merry Christmas and off we were. Little Sarah hugged Ernie's leg. Ernie waved and gave another wry smile. Ernie's a pretty wry guy. I guess.
And so the story ends. The family got a tree, albeit with a crooked back, and everyone is happy. Well except me, I'm out $30!
There is of course a moral to the story. I hope you like peanut butter, because soon that's the only thing you'll be able to afford. But look on the bright side - it's healthy.
