Christmas meant real Christmas trees for my family. Then my husband got a fake one.

My origin story begins on Christmas Eve. My parents met on Dec. 24 on a southbound train.
My origin story begins on Christmas Eve. My parents met on Dec. 24 on a southbound train. When they got married a decade later, it was in late January, but neither could remember which day. They always considered Christmas Eve their anniversary.
In the lead-up to Christmas Eve every year, our house filled with excitement. The faces of my parents softened; they laughed more. That night, we dressed up and went over to my grandparent’s house for cocktails and dinner.
I asked my mother once if we could get silver tinsel icicles, having seen them at a friend’s house. The answer was a firm no.
The cousins I saw only once a year were there. My aunt made the same shrimp hors d’oeuvre and served it with the same crackers. My uncle always wore a tie to carve the turkey. The tree twinkled with colored lights and ornaments. It felt like the party scene of “The Nutcracker.”
I always loved Christmas trees, and there’s nothing like the smell of a freshly cut evergreen to evoke those memories. Two miles down the road, we had the same kind of tree twinkling away at our own house. I remember unpacking the ornaments as a child and greeting them like old friends. We had fancy ones people gave as gifts, and handmade ones we made in school.
Rating: 5