Saratoga News

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It's a time for making, and breaking, family traditions

By Dick Sparrer

Ah yes, family traditions. Like 'em or not, we all have them. And one of them, it seems, returns every year about this time. It's that annual task that can be performed only as a family unit--picking out the Christmas tree.

Of course, that's not the case in our family anymore. With the children grown and out of the house, our yearly project of selecting the tree has been replaced by the simple chore of walking out in the garage, pulling the biggest box out of the rafters and setting up the 10-foot artificial tree ... lights included.

It wasn't always that way. In fact, it was quite different in years past. We used to drive into the hills and cut down the tree ourselves. My, what a bonding experience that had become.

We'd get up at about 6 a.m. on a Saturday; make three or four gallons of hot chocolate; bundle up in our very best mountaineering clothes (just for added emphasis I wouldn't shave for a few days ... you know, for that lumberjack look); pack up our provisions (I especially liked those "provisions" that were jelly-filled); and head for the hills. We'd plug the cassette of Christmas carols into the car stereo and sing along as we drove.

It was all part of the bonding process, and it continued throughout the day. Because what better place could there be to communicate with family members but in the great outdoors?

We'd hike for a while, then discuss the attributes of a particular tree. We'd move along and have another, less friendly discussion about another. Then after hiking for miles through steep, muddy canyons, our tired disgusted family would have a pretty ugly argument that would end something like, "Well, I'm cutting this one down, and I don't care what you think!"

Ah, traditions!

Now, the last time we attempted to cut down our own tree, it was truly a remarkable family experience. The little one threw up the doughnuts he had wolfed down on the twisting drive up the mountain; the tree we picked out was so far away from the car that I'm certain we were in a different ZIP code; and the hillside was so steep we couldn't get an accurate gauge on just how tall the tree really was. So we cut it anyway. By the time we got the tree back to the car, the last thing I wanted was hot cocoa and doughnuts--maybe a little oxygen would have been nice.

After about 15 minutes of lying on my face in the dirt to catch my breath, I gathered up two or three other dads out for a holiday good time and they helped me hoist our tree atop the car for the drive home. It covered our old minivan like a fir overcoat.

By the time we got home, no one was speaking--until my wife asked to borrow the calamine lotion I was smearing on my poison oak. Actually, the experience did bond the family in one way--we all agreed that was the last time we would cut down our Christmas tree! Our new family tradition would be going out together to a tree lot in town to select our holiday spruce.

We could still sing Christmas carols, and we could still drink hot chocolate and eat doughnuts. My wife and kids thought it sounded great--as long as the teen-ager could bring his girlfriend and as long as the younger one was limited to two doughnuts.

So that's what we did. The next year we went out to choose our tree together in the true tradition of a family Christmas. Of course, the teen and his sweetie disappeared into the forest of trees to do who knows what; the younger guy had taken off for the car, pouting because we didn't like the tree he had selected; and my wife was wandering off in a white winter wonderland, thinking that this might be the year for the flocked tree.

So there I was alone, saying to myself, "Well, I'm taking this one, and I don't care what they think!"

They hated it, but that's OK ... I'd already paid for it and they were loading it onto the car. And as we drove away I plugged in the Christmas carols and said to my wife, "This family tradition stuff is really great. But next year let's leave the kids at home and go to Sears to get one of those artificial trees ... with lights."

And a new family tradition was born.