Trees.

Oh, converter of carbon dioxide, emitter of oxygen; rife with all manner of positive symbolism such as growth, life, and knowledge. They’re genuinely nature’s good guy.

Until Christmastime, that is, when regular ole evergreens transform into seasonal symbols eliciting spirited debates. That’s when the Douglas fir really starts to fly, and away we go in a manger.

Like so many insidious instruments of divisiveness it goes by many ambiguous names; however, no matter which way you cut it down—whether you call it a Yule tree, a Christmas tree, or a Holiday tree—it is, most assuredly, a Tree of Controversy.

When I was growing up a Christmas tree was just a Christmas tree. The majority of the people I knew who celebrated Christmas had a pine of some sort that was a version of our own slightly spindly, tinsel-enhanced tree. (The rich folks had flocked trees, the 70’s debuting the daring pink-flocked conifer.)

Absent a tree, there might have been a menorah or some other cultural talisman for the season, and there wasn’t much ado being made about the “having”  or the “not having” of a Christmas tree.

Nevertheless, to quote that iconic song by The Byrds, “The Times They Are A-Changin”—fast and furious, may I add—to the point that it now seems like there is NO cultural practice in possession of immunity in terms of public commentary.

To summarize the political hullabaloo that rages on each year: It seems several people have had their mellow harshed when other citizens “force” them to gaze upon a Christmas tree when it’s so not their thing.

Therefore, the Christmas tree has become a non-deciduous symbol of incitement. We have a version of this in our family, but it’s not so much about having a tree as it is about what type of tree we’ll display.

To summarize the domestic hullabaloo: It seems several family members have had their mellow harshed when other family members “force” them to gaze upon a type of Christmas tree that is so not their thing. (Think the Douglas/Fraser/Balsam fir versus the Blue/Norway/White spruce versus the Scotch/White/Virginia pine.)

When we do finally settle on the appropriate type of tree, we encounter the next lightning rod of controversy centering around choosing the perfect specimen. During this process, our family uses technical terms like “bushy” and “branchy” when communicating our desires and expectations, which apply to our prospective tree.

Whether we adopt the aforementioned bushy or branchy oxygen-producer is dependent upon who won the rock-paper-scissors contest for that year. In any case one thing is for certain. No matter what, we will acquire a tree that is much too tall and way too wide for our domicile.

This means my husband needs to prune the tree before it can assume the vertical position in our living room. Thus, he steps into his annual non-Nativity-related holiday role of Edward Scissorhands, slicing away until there’s more tree on the floor than will find its way into the stand.

No matter, the end result is the evergreen is now lofty, poised, and looks as though it was meant for its special corner.

This whole photosynthesizing symbol of joy and unity that is the Christmas tree as part of our holiday tradition is a lot like childbirth.

I seem to remember only the joy of the result, not the pain… until the next time.

---

For more of Diane’s brand of sit-down standup humor, she’s now got a podcast: 💉BANGS ‘N’ BOTOX: Women Who Wear Aging Well✂️for your listening pleasure.🎧LinkedIn Podcast Page➡️https://bit.ly/4mcsyng

▶️YouTube🔴 http://bit.ly/3KAG06U

📻Tune in for the humor; stay for the real talk.✨