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The
father was telling the young boy and his sister a Christmas story. The
sister, only 3, drifted in attention from her father's words to the
doll upon her lap. Not so with the boy. His dad was telling a story,
and nothing in the young lad's life meant as much as the attention of
his father telling him another tale.
Tonight
the father was telling the story of the ugliest Christmas tree in the
forest. Now the man didn't use the word ugly. That would have been too
demeaning an adjective to be included in a yuletide tale. The son had
decided for himself that was what his father meant by the description
of the tree he was presenting to their youthful imaginations. Scrawny,
sparse branches; a crooked base. What else could one, even an
8-year-old boy, think of such a tree.
The
young boy wriggled closer to his father to get the measure of every
word of the story he was hearing. The father told how all the trees in
the forest were excited with the holiday season just ahead. The tall
trees bragged how they would be cut and placed in great public
buildings or perhaps in the mansion of a wealthy or influential
family. The thick, full trees boasted how well they would look in the
center of a room. "No need to hide a part of us against a
wall," they chortled. "We look good from every angle, from
every viewpoint."
As
all the trees talked about the big day, the scrawny, bedraggled little
tree stood quietly and just listened. It had heard this talk from many
a tree in many a Christmas season before. Always the trees had been
right. Always a loving family had come into the forest and cut them
down. Always the sad little tree with too few limbs had been passed
by.
For
years it had hoped to be cut. For years it had been disappointed. It
had come to the point that the little tree had resigned itself to live
forever in the cold forest, never to know the feeling of ornaments and
lights as a family frolicked and reveled around it during a holiday
season. It was certain it would never stand proud above a train
running around its base as present after present brought glee to
children and pride to parents.
Yes,
the little tree just listened and resigned itself to another year of
rejection. As the time for visitors to the forest drew near, the trees
were all abuzz with rumor. The trees had heard that the forest had
been sold to a company that cut all the trees and sold them to a big
conglomerate that would put them all for sale in a big city lot.
All
the full trees shook as much snow from their limbs as they could.
"Better to show how magnificent we are," they beamed.
The
tall trees stretched their roots as much as they could. "It’s
time to be as tall as we can," they boasted.
The
little scrawny tree just watched and listened sullenly. The thought
that it would be left alone in the forest was even less appealing than
that of another year of listening to boasting from the more attractive
trees waiting their yuletide turn.
Then
with a roar the day came when the huge company moved its equipment
into the forest. Lumberjacks, bulldozers, haulers and trucks filled
the forest with their noxious fumes and incessant noise. One after
another the trees all were felled, bagged and put on the great trucks
for the trip to the city.
As
a tall, weathered man with a chainsaw in his hand walked near the
scrawny, crooked tree, the little tree bowed its upward branches in
dejection. It couldn't bear the thought it would be passed by and left
alone on the tall hill, once home to so many Christmas trees.
With
a shock it realized the chainsaw was cutting its base from the soil
around it. Flopped on its side, the tree found, to its delight, it was
being unceremoniously dragged down the hill, wrapped in mesh and
thrown in the back of the huge trucks with all the other trees.
The
little tree's glee was short-lived, however, as all the other trees on
the truck laughed at him. The little tree was told the only reason he
was cut down was because the forest was to be turned into a meadow and
not because he had any worth. "Once we get to the lot, you'll be
thrown in the trash can to give warmth to the sellers," the other
trees chided.
Another
tree barked out, "No, they will probably cut you up to sell for
Christmas wreaths." The remark caused all the other trees to
laugh. From the base of the little crooked tree came a tear as it
realized they were probably right.
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column]
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The
long ride to the big city lot lasted a lifetime as the little tree
awaited an untimely end. It recalled how it had suffered through the
years of heat and cold just trying to be good enough to make it to
some nice family's living room. It remembered how hard it had tried to
be straight and tall and full like the others. It wondered why it had
to be different.
At
the lot, the little tree found all its fears coming true. As tree
after tree was unbagged, shaken and placed along the racks, it
sullenly waited its turn. When the old seller cut the bag around the
little tree, he took one look at its crooked base and sparse branches
and threw the tree on the scrap heap.
The
little tree waited for the sellers to cut it up and throw it in the
burn barrel.
Somehow
the little tree stayed where it was for days on the heap of discarded
branches. A warm Christmas season had found no need to bring heat to
the lot, and so it just lay there on its side watching as tree after
tree was picked out and hauled away by the families who visited the
location.
And
then on Christmas Eve an amazing thing happened. Suddenly the tree
felt itself being lifted up by one of the sellers as another tall,
thin man winced at the sight of the tree. "This is the only tree
I have for three dollars," he heard the seller say.
"Well,
then, I guess I will take it," the stranger said.
With
that, the little tree was thrown in the back of an old station wagon,
its crooked base jutting out the already-broken back window. After a
short ride, the tree found itself being dragged up the steps of a
small home and into a clean but sparsely furnished living room.
"This
is all I could get for three bucks," the tree heard the man say.
"Well,
then, it will have to do," an equally tall and thin lady at the
door answered.
For
the rest of the day the man worked on the tree's base, trimming,
cutting and positioning it in the stand so it would give at least a
semblance of standing erect. The wife adorned the tree with strands of
lights and simple ornaments, lovingly positioning each one to hide as
much fault in the tree's lack of branches as possible.
As
the little tree stood there trying to apologize for its failures, two
small children came running into the room.
"Wow,
Dad! We got a Christmas tree," the young boy chortled.
"You
said we couldn't afford one this year," the little sister
remarked.
With
that the little tree sprang upright. For the first time in its life it
was being judged for what it was, not how it looked.
As
the holidays went by and family and friends came to see the little
tree, the entire family became entranced by the daily appearance of
the tree.
"Is
it just me, or is the tree taller than it was before," the man
remarked.
"Have
you noticed it seems fuller than it was just yesterday," asked
the wife.
Visitors
to the small home also seemed impressed by the tree. "One of the
best trees, I ever saw," remarked a grandfather.
"How
did you afford it?" remarked an aunt.
Through
it all, the tree stood and prospered and reveled in its life. In that
most special of seasons, it had come to realize that the only special
thing anyone needs is to have pride in what they are, to have pride in
knowing that what one does with what one has is more important than
being perfect.
At
this statement the man told the son that the story was over. The young
sister lay on the floor asleep, both hands grasped tightly around her
doll.
"So,
would you like to go out and find that little tree for our living
room?" the father asked.
"You
bet I would," answered the son.
In a
moment the boy was running for his coat. As he ran from his room again
to meet his father, he paused and went back to the dresser. From the
old jar on top of the bureau, he took out three dollars in coins. He
was only 8 years old, but he had understood both points of the
father's story.
[Mike
Fak]
This article is re-published
courtesy of www.fakmachine.com.
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