The Me Size Tree

The scent of pine permeated the air.  Passed the wide gateway, tall trees lined the makeshift wooden walls, columns of green categorized according to species – Douglas, Frasier, and Balsam.  Beyond the clutter of classic Christmas trees were a row of tiny trees no taller than three feet. Their trunks were wedged and bolted into a red metal stand which someone had recently filled with a splash of water.  Listening, one could almost hear the chatter of the tiny trees. One sharp shrill voice echoed slightly louder than the others, an enthusiastic pitch saturated with optimism and hope.  ‘Oh, won’t it be wonderful if a little boy or girl wished to take me home.  I so long to be decorated and loved,’ this tree announced to her companions.  ‘Someone will certainly want me, my needles are so perfectly green and my shape is terrifically triangular.’

                Yes, this little tree was certain that she was irresistible, that someone would wish to bring her home.  But as the season wore on and she watched her friends chosen instead of her, she began to lose hope and to despair.  Cars continuously pulled up to the gate. Men tied big trees to the ski racks. Women opened doors and ushered the smaller trees into to the back beside the children. And during it all, the one little optimistic tree eagerly scanned the endless crowd in search of that one special child who would love her.  Time and again she was overlooked. When the weekend before Christmas arrived tears glistened on the tips of her needles.  Would no one love her for the holidays?

                Standing sullenly, hope draining out of her, she suddenly heard short rapid steps, the pitter-patter of toddler feet tumbling towards her. A tiny hand clothed in a light grey mitten reached out and tapped her top.

                ‘Mommy, Mama,’ a little boy’s voice pierced the air. ‘A me size tree.’ His smiled filled his face and spilled into his eyes.

                ‘Yes Little Man, you and the tree are the same height.’ His mother answered cautiously, already sensing the plea presented by his smile.

                ‘Home! My tree!’ His arms encircled it, his cheek pressed against the semi-frozen branches.

                ‘Don’t you want a big tree?’ His other mother asked.

                He shook his head, ‘No, me size tree.’

                A brief consultation between his mothers yielded a compromise – a smaller big tree for the house and a me size tree for the Little Man.  Neither one wanted to disappoint the boy. Excitedly, he followed his moms to the man in the orange apron. Money changed hands and the little boy climbed into his car seat while his mom tucked the tree in beside him. During the twenty minute drive home, the boy’s pink fingers caressed the tender braches that spilled onto his lap.

                At home, as his mothers scrambled to take the larger tree off the car and into the house. The little boy scurried to drag his tree inside.  His mothers gently scolded him. They told him to wait just a moment then they would help him but excitement displaced reason.  He tugged. He pulled. He left behind him a trail of water. But proudly, he propped the tree up in the centre of the already cramped living room.  While his moms set the bigger tree up in the stand, he waited restlessly beside the bin of Christmas tree ornament s.  A subtle nod from his moms and he tore off the lid. Carelessly eager hands rummaged through the bin, fingers tossing aside tissue paper. Searching for his favourite decorations, he hung them on his me size tree, dressing her up with bright reds and yellows, ornaments collected and cherished over his two, almost three years of existence.  Brushing aside help from both of his mothers, he decorated – rather unsymmetrically - his entire tree.  He saved a yellow star, which he had made for last, and he placed it on her crown. Then he leaned into her and gave her a big hug as if she were a good friend, a confident who would hold secret all of his stories.

                The little tree was happy. The love she felt was fierce and the warmth that filtered through her branches made her needles shine more brightly than they ever had in the store. The little boy was happy, also.  And in the remaining days leading up to Christmas he lavished her with his attention.  Removing ornaments, he shuffled them around and refreshed her appearance daily. He remembered to water her each evening.  And on Christmas morning, even Santa paid homage to the tree, leaving beside her one small present for the little man. 

                Yes, the tree was happy and the boy loved her. But Christmas trees are only for Christmas. In late January, long after the bigger tree had been taken down, the little boy spent a weekend with his grandparents. While he was gone, his mother took down his me size tree and set it out back with the trash. The me size tree stood outside alone in the cold and cried for she loved the little boy and would certainly miss him.  Days later, when the little boy returned, he immediately noticed the empty space where his friend had stood. His eyes filled with tears, his tiny hands balled into fists and he struck the air.  His mother pulled him into her arms and tried to kiss away his tears but the sadness was heavy. It broke the little boy’s heart.