-Sometimes, the spirit of Christmas Past can be lost in the chaos. Sometimes, it tackles you and drags you on a nostalgic walk.-
This year, after my family ripped into our yearly haul, I sank into my great aunt’s pink chair and gazed at my folks’ tree. The longer I sat, the more I focused on individual ornaments and their stories.
Mom chose carefully from her decorating stash this year; the old evergreen was not collapsing under the weight of a century’s worth of memories. Instead, a select few ornaments, meaning something special to each of us, hung on different branches. Camera in hand, I began documenting them… Dad noticed, grumbling out, “That poinsettia one was on my first tree.” I dutifully snapped a shot of it, too. I captured images of my favorite aluminum twirler, a matching set of boy and girl angels, and a miniature hearth laden with personalized stockings.
As I continued circling the tree, one ornament, in particular, eluded me: a tiny hand-blown glass clown, garbed in faded yellow and a few specks of glitter. He’s known as the Little Man and has presided over McKinstry family Christmas trees since 1908. I finally located him perched high up on a sturdy limb, safe from drunken revelers, curious children, and interested pets. This elevated presence reflects how much Daddy loves him. And how much Bill (my brother) and I used to fear him. No one, especially Bill or me, wanted to be responsible for the Little Man’s demise. Rather than excitedly arguing over who would inherit (and thus keep) the Little Man, Bill and I tried to thrust the responsibility on each other. If you held the Little Man in your hands, you would understand, as he is as tiny and fragile as a soap bubble. An errant sneeze could shatter his body and mark the perpetrator for life.
Early each Christmas season, Mom would unwrap him, hand him to Dad, and Dad would hang him high… right below the topper. We’d stand and admire him while Dad explained the Little Man’s history… how he’d been on our grandfather’s first Christmas tree… how we had a photo proving it (and we do). And how we had better NOT try and touch him. Following the Christmas season, Mom carefully removed him from the tree, wrapped him gently in tissue paper and placed him in a small box.
Then came the year we all dreaded… the year we could not find the Little Man. We tore through the boxes, seeking, looking, rooting… and nothing. No Little Man anywhere. We all eyed each other suspiciously. Who had broken him, hiding the remains? Who was guilty and trying to avert suspicion? Dad shouted and accused; Mom pegged us with her “what did you do” look. Bill and I frantically claimed our innocence. It mattered not. Guilty until proven innocent had no legal merit in our house so, with heavy hearts, we celebrated the season without our mascot… our family totem. Once the year ended, we repackaged the ornaments and stored them for another season.
Early the next December, we again hauled out boxes of glass balls, hand-made decorations, and strings of colored lights circa 1952. Nestled on top, inside of a padded corrugated box none of us had ever seen before, slept the Little Man. Gasps, shrieks, and spastic dancing broke out among family members. Where had he hidden for a year? How had he found his way to the top of the box? A litany of who, what, when, where and whys sprung from our lips.
And then a mass sense of chagrin settled down over our shoulders… embarrassment that we had accused each other; regret that we refused to believe heartfelt declarations of innocence; sorrow that we had not accepted each others’ word. Maybe we did not deserve the Little Man the year before. Maybe we needed to appreciate our family unit above the Little Man. Is it possible he had become our Golden Calf? Dad humbly placed him atop the tree and, once again, he sparkled under the lights of the crowning star.
We continue to love the Little Man and share his story with newer generations. He celebrated his 102 Christmas with us this year… or 101 if you do not count his year of self-induced purgatory. As I reflect back upon all of our Christmases together, I think we should focus more on how long he has shared our family’s love rather than on how long he will continue to grace an annual evergreen. After all, he is essentially a symbol of love, and that cannot be broken.
I wonder if Mom and Dad will leave him to me?
