A tattered little green elf
hangs from my Christmas tree
and invokes my childhood self
and Tom - at two or three.
While shopping with our mother,
some task called her away -
"Stay with your little brother
for just a sec, okay?
I think perhaps we could use
an ornament or two,
so first let your brother choose
and then pick one for you."
She rushed off to do her chore,
and Tom's hand I did take
lest some trinket in the store
his little hands should break.
All the baubles on the shelf
we studiously eyed;
Tom chose the little green elf,
but I could not decide.
At last I chose a reindeer
just as our mom returned -
on her face it was clear
that her trust I had earned.
She must've known I'd be fine,
and would do as she asked,
thus I learned at eight or nine
I could rise to the task.
She had so seldom left me
to watch Tom on my own -
I did my duty bravely
by tending him alone.
On that day, so long ago
I held my brother's hand,
but it took me years to know
and really understand
how caring for another
enables us to grow;
when we tend to each other,
great happiness we know.
So though Green Elf's in tatters
he still hangs on my tree,
reminding me what matters
is love - and family.
Sharon Flood Kasenberg, May '08
The story is true. It was Christmastime, and my mother had taken my younger brother and I to Stedman's Department Store so she could make some holiday purchases. It all unfolded more or less as I told the story in the poem, though I can't clearly remember her exact words, and I'm betting they didn't rhyme. She didn't go far, in fact, as I recall she was within sight of us the whole time. (I wanted to clarify that, just in case anyone out there tried to accuse my mom of negligence.) She was probably gone less than five minutes too, but to a child who was so wary of strangers that I once started crying because my mother wandered four feet from me in a store, and as a result I tugged on some strange lady's coat instead of hers, it was a big deal to be separated from her. Those few minutes seemed like a long time.
The fact that I was left with my brother made me feel brave - or maybe it just brought out my always pragmatic nature. I mean, who wants to deal with a crying little brother when you're stressed out yourself? The right course of action seemed obvious - do as I was asked, keep Tom amused, and trust that my mother wasn't about to abandon us in Stedman's.
Well, it turns out Mom loved us enough to claim us again, and I learned that she trusted me enough to know I'd follow her instructions. Plus, we got a cool green elf and an odd little plastic reindeer to hang on the Christmas tree!
Fast forward a few decades...
I'm married now, and we've got a little four foot Christmas tree that we usually set up on a table. But we didn't bother with it the year before because my oldest son was a toddler, and with a newborn in the house I just didn't have time to keep him away from a tree. It's just a cheap little tree I bought at Canadian Tire when I was single - sparse of branches, and with more than a passing resemblance to Charlie Brown's famous tree, but I like it, and missed seeing it the year before. This year my sons are two and one, and I dig it out and decorate it with two toddlers in tow. They are fascinated with the shiny balls and lights, and dance around the living room yelling, "Pretty! Pretty!!"
I'm getting irritated the first time they knock it over, and I'm ready to pack it all up again when they upend it a second time. My husband comes home to crying kids and a frustrated wife sweeping up broken ornaments, and packing up the ones that survived. Through my own sniffles I tell him we'll have to wait another year or two to put up a tree, but (ever a problem solver) he comes up with a better plan.
We leave one small strand of lights wound tightly around the tree, and we sternly tell the boys that if they touch it again we'll take the lights away. Todd buys a few unbreakable ornaments and I find some candy canes, cut some circular pictures out of old Christmas cards and make a tinfoil star for the top of the tree.The Christmas tree is saved, the boys are happy, and I'm grateful that we brainstormed a solution - and pretty thrilled every time I see the boys standing in awe beside the lit tree.
Years pass. My sons love the tree, and we continue to use many of those unbreakable ornaments, although I gradually add more fragile items into the mix too. The tinfoil star is finally replaced with an exact replica, because it reminds me that love finds a way - even when everything seems to be crashing down around me.
Fast forward another eight or nine years. My father died the year before, and my mother decides to sell our family home. Her first year in an apartment, she opts to put up a small tree rather than bother with the six footer that her and Dad had bought after I left home. (I think she also feels a little sorry for us - we continue to put up that four foot tree, and she figures that left to our own devices our boys will be forever deprived of a larger one.) Anyhow, she gives us her six foot tree and a big bag full of decorations that my family used when I was young...
...and there he is - Green Elf! I get a bit teary when I see him, and tell my husband and sons about the day my brother adopted him.
The green elf has been a big part of our Christmases since then. We usually hang him from the cheap dollar store star that adorns the big tree. The boys have an affectionate nickname for him that I won't share, since it's a bit rude. He's usually one of the first things we put on our tree. The plastic reindeer goes on the tree every year too. Some might think it's tacky, but it also reminds me of the day I first looked out for my brother in the wider world. The reindeer also serves as a reminder that we're all a bit like a timid deer at some points in life - little Bambi's who look for a friend to help us cope with whatever tragedies and trials befall us.
Whenever my younger brother visits us at Christmastime he looks for Green Elf. He doesn't remember the day he chose it at Stedman's - I had to tell him the story the first year he visited our house and saw it on Mom and Dad's old tree. I asked him once if he wanted the elf, since he chose it, but he told me to keep it. So I will. (But I might bequeath it to him in my will - if my sons don't lay claim to it first!)
The elf reminds me of all my stories of Christmases past - of years of plenty and years of financial hardship. He reminds me of my childhood home and the smell of turkey cooking when we woke up on Christmas morning. He reminds me of Christmas Eve variety shows with my brothers and sisters, of Christmas Day parties at our house, of baking with my mom and sisters and listening to my parents' favorite Perry Como Christmas album. He reminds me of the mittens and slippers my grandmother knit us every year as gifts. He reminds me of all the love, laughter, friends and family activities that were always a part of my childhood Christmases.
He also reminds me of all the Christmases he's now shared with a second generation; of me getting up before my boys to turn on the Christmas tree lights, of the boys excitedly peeking into their stockings and eagerly anticipating cinnamon buns for breakfast, and later unwrapping their gifts. When I look at that raggedy little green guy swinging from a star, I know that Christmas is a time of wonder, awe and love - whether you're the parent or the child.
Someday, when both my sons have left home, I'll remember how, as tall teenagers, my sons would take turns reaching up to hang Green Elf from that star, where he could watch over all of us -
And all my Christmas memories will come rushing back.
No comments:
Post a Comment