It was a ‘Charlie
Brown Christmas tree,’ even before there was a Charlie Brown. It stood almost
six-feet tall with a crooked trunk and so few scraggly branches that you could almost call it a stick. As my sister and I dragged it home, we left
a trail of needles from Grandpa’s store to the house where he and Grandma lived,
just a block away.
In a word, it was WORRYSOME. How could this pitiful specimen
ever become a ‘real’ Christmas tree?
Dad was in the Navy, gone now three years fighting World War
II. The three of us, mom, my kid sister and me, lived in on a brick-paved
street in a tiny rental house that was owned by grandma and grandpa who lived
next door. This is where we moved when dad was called to serve our country. Our
rent was $20 a month… or not, depending on if we had the money.
Between our house and the store was an alley, used mostly by
garbage trucks… like the one that hit and almost killed me once when I raced
across in my Radio Flyer wagon without looking. But that was another time. On
the other side of the alley was Frasco Brothers’ Corner Grocery Store. It
belonged to grandpa and his brother, our Uncle August. His family lived above
the store. The Frasco brothers were Italian immigrants who came to Peoria,
Illinois through Ellis Island in 1903. The Frasco men found their calling in
groceries and, after establishing themselves, sent for their families. Mom and
dad were both first generation American born.
It
was the morning of December 24th, that long time ago. My younger
sister and I were so excited. Not only was tomorrow the BIG DAY but right now,
we would get to put up grandma’s Christmas tree… and that thrilled us beyond
telling. This was only our second time… but this year, we got to do it (almost)
all by ourselves. Grandma’s house was the center of our family Christmas.
Because of the war, the scarcity of some food products limited
what could be bought, but everyone went all out for Christmas and Frasco
Brothers’ was the only place folks around here shopped. The nearest Kroger was
still 41 years away. And who wouldn’t choose a neighborhood grocer who knew every
customer by both first and last name and delivered free in a horse drawn wagon…
until the first Model T truck was purchased.
Grandpa (Butch—short for butcher—or Teddy, they called him) and
Uncle August carried many of their customers ‘on the books’ with full knowledge
that some debts would never be paid, “…because widow Johnson doesn’t have the
money and we can’t let her go hungry,” or “Tony just had a big hospital bill because
of Mary’s operation,” or “Mrs. Melvin lost her husband in Italy and still has
three small kids to raise… “
The customer always came first at Frasco Brothers’ and this
went double when it came to Christmas trees. Grandma always got whatever was
left, usually around Christmas Eve, after Grandpa had called all his customers
who didn’t have their trees yet. “No money this year, Mrs. Albert… who said you
needed money for a Christmas tree? We are saving the best for you. Want us to
drop it off?”
This year, there was just one left for grandma… the best …
the only… but, as grandpa said, we had the chance to help God make our own beautiful
tree. So… Over the alley and through the
neighborhood, to grandmother’s house we drug… that poor, mangy stump of a
tree, while pulling our wagon filled with the extra branches that fell from
other, long-ago-purchased trees, a card of thumb-tacks and a ball of green
butcher’s twine.
“Look,” Grandpa showed us, “ with just some extra branches,
thumb-tacks and string, this will be the best tree of all.”
Grandma smiled as she greeted us at her door. ”My, what a wonderful
tree we have this year.” (We later learned that she always said that.) “I just
know you will make it so that baby Jesus himself will want to lie in our
manger.”
Now we knew…the fate of Christmas was in our hands.
From the attic’s drop-down stairs came the boxes of heirloom
ornaments older than we were and the rag-tag, impossibly jumbled strands of mixed
lights that sometimes did, but mostly didn’t work. With the patience of the
knitting and crocheting whiz that she was, grandma would carefully untangle, and
then try every single light to find ones causing problems, replacing all that
needed replacing. Sometime, she even had to repair the flimsy wire that tied
them electrically together. Eventually, we had full strings of working,
blinking Christmas lights… and we were thrilled!
Our attention turned to that miserable specimen of a tree lying
on the parlor’s tile floor. I picked it up and settled the tree’s base into the
stand. With grandma’s keen eye, she judged the best angle of the crooked trunk
and my sister held it in place while I tightened the stand’s screws. Our
‘Charlie Brown ‘tree was soon able to stand as straight as possible without
being held.
We all stood back and surveyed our work so far. “Hmm… ” Finally,
grandma nodded, “Just right! Kids, get those branches and let’s get started.”
Grandma was an amazing woman.
We hummed Christmas carols as we worked… and thumb-tack by
thumb-tack, grandma began attaching extra branches to the trunk while I tied supporting
strings higher up the tree.
We gently layered our tree with all the working Christmas
bulbs… and oohed and aahed when they actually lit the tree.
Grandma then had to leave us to get grandpa’s lunch on the
table for their big noontime meal. Grandpa
opened the market at 6 am and, after finishing cleanup chores when the store
closed 12 hours later, his feet hurt… and he was too tired to eat much before
he fell into a hard-snoring slumber on his favorite chair… six days a week.
Sis and I stayed busy, fully consumed with our important
task. We were a well-oiled team, happier at our task than at any other time of
the year.
Ornament-by-ornament, our scraggly leftover started to look like
a real Christmas tree. The topper was, of course, the most beautiful star you
could ever imagine. Grandma made it out of yellow felt and red ribbon. She used
the ladder to put it atop the tree, and after a few ‘tippy’ moments, she had it
looking ‘just right,’ even if it was a tad off center. Then we wrapped the tree
in popcorn and ribbon garland and draped it with so much silver tinsel that Santa
himself couldn’t tell it wasn’t perfect.
Finally, our favorite part--we unpacked the manger and carefully
unwrapped all the characters… the camels, the wise men, the sheep and shepherd,
the angel, Mary, Joseph… and the baby Jesus.
It was my sister who lovingly laid Him in the manger. We stood
back… and after an appreciating pause, we sang Away in a Manger and Silent
Night. This was the first moment when we really felt the meaning of the
season in our hearts. And of course, ours was the most beautiful Christmas tree
ever!
As we stood there in
reflected silence and pride, we knew Christmas meant hope, love and peace. But
mostly, I think, hope. Please bring our dad home… and all the dads and brothers
and sons and daughters. End the war… please end the war. And let us all do unto
others, as we would have them do unto us…
All wasn’t right with the world that Christmas, but we believed
it would be again, someday… sooner, we prayed, than later.
.
So, with hope abounding: Happy
Christmas to all… and to all, a good night.
Jerry C.
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