by Roxanne Tracy

Created on: December 11, 2008

I have an affinity for Charlie Brown Christmas trees. You know the ones, with limbs the thickness of a #2 pencil. Branches that have enough pine needles to maybe require a broom when it is time to take it down. I like that when an ornament is hung on the tree that most likely it will be on the floor within seconds. In my life where beauty and comfort are key essentials to keeping sane, this is an oddity. I cannot help it. My mother passed her affinity for these trees onto my sister and myself. Do not get me wrong, my internal Christmas meter desires the tall, full pine tree that reaches to the sky. I love anything Victorian, so I love to add candles to my tree. The thing is, if you dare to put a candle, let alone a flame to light said candle anywhere near a Charlie Brown Christmas tree, you will end up with kindling.

Why my mother loved these trees is a mystery. I suppose it is because she always loved and supported the underdog, always believing that everyone should have a chance. I hated the night we would all go out and look for Charlie Brown. We would go from lot to lot, and if it did not appeal to my mother's requirements, then the search would continue. As a teenager, I hated this. I hated being seen at the lots carrying a tree with one hand, and barely heaving a heavy breath. Charlie Brown Christmas trees have to weigh about three pounds according to my mother. Oh, and lest us not forget trying to get the darned thing into the stand. My sister and I would always end up arguing. If you have ever tried this, you understand where the frustration comes in. They do not make Christmas tree stands for Charlie Brown trees. Every year, at this time, we had to get very resourceful. What could we use to add some thickness to the stem to get it to fit in the stand? It was always a chore, always ended in arguments, with both my mother and my sister not speaking to me in the end.

Nine years ago, I left the Charlie Brown trees to the people who needed kindling for their fireplaces. My mother committed suicide on December 1, and pretty much changed the holiday seasons for my sister and me forever. The first Christmas was a nightmare, there was no tree, and the only presents that we had were the ones we had found at my mother's house. She had done some shopping before the first, and we found them in bags in the room with the closet where she shot herself. I still remember my sister and I sitting in my living room with these unwrapped gifts numbly thinking to ourselves,

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