I love the tradition behind a live Christmas Tree as much as anyone, and my story is of a very special Christmas many years ago.
Every year it seems to be the same story. My wife and I along with my son and daughter head over to the local firehouse to purchase our Christmas Tree. The action begins the second we get into the car. It starts with one of the kids claiming it’s their turn to pick out the tree. An argument immediately erupts and this happy, jolly occasion turns into a “Why do we bother doing this each year” affair.
This year promised to be very much the same. My daughter had returned home from her second year of college the night before and was excited to pick out the tree. She reminded my son the it was her turn and he surprisingly agreed. I had seen this ploy of his before and knew his fight was not over. He would shoot down every tree she picked out.
The following evening we take the short drive to the firehouse and begin the process of grabbing the perfect tree. In the car they reach a pact and decide to make the trip fun. I don’t believe this for one second, but my wife reminds me they are growing up and hopefully more mature.
I’m still not certain about this love affair the kids are having and wait for the fireworks to begin. I walk over to a fireman friend in an attempt to stay away from the impending confrontation. At this moment I cannot help but think back to a very early time in my life when the tradition of having a Christmas Tree in the house was put to the test due to a death in the family.
It was November of 1956 and I’m five years old. My grandmother (my father’s mother) had passed away kind of unexpectedly. I don’t remember the exact circumstances behind her passing but I clearly recall my father’s grief. Returning home after the funeral, he announced that in keeping with tradition we (he) would need more time to grieve and that there would be no Christmas Tree or lights displayed on the house this year.
My sister and I did not know what to say. The disappointment was clearly etched on our faces. I remember my mom pulling him aside and trying to convince him to let us have a normal Christmas but my father remained firm in his decision. As the days marched quickly to the holiday and our friends were continuously talking up Santa and Christmas my sister and I now became fearful that even Mr. Claus would not stop at a house without a Christmas Tree. Our Christmas love was fading.
Back then my father owned a tiny stationary store and employed a local kid from the neighborhood. Harold was 19 years old at the time and getting ready to join the armed services. My sister and I regarded him as an older brother and my parents treated him like one of the family. Harold would spend nearly every Sunday with us and loved my mom’s cooking.
My father, still shaken by my grandmother’s passing, had Harold close the store on many evenings. A few days before Christmas he stopped by the house after his evening shift to give my father the keys. Christmas was definitely in the air as a light December Snow had settled onto the streets and sidewalks of the neighbor. He walked into the house handed my father the keys and asked. “Hey Pat, why no tree, and where are the lights?”
The silence that filled the room was upsetting. “Why don’t you let me take the kids out and pick up a tree and when I come back I’ll get the lights up? Really Pat, it’s Christmas for goodness sake.” I didn’t know what to expect, but for the first time in many weeks, I saw my father crack a half smile. He reached into his pocket for a few bills, passed them on to Harold and said, “Sounds like a good idea kid, why don’t you do that.”
My sister and I had our coats, hats and gloves on in a split second and raced to the garage for one of our sleights. We meet Harold in the front yard and began to sing Christmas Carols as we made our way the few blocks to a spot where they were selling trees. We only hoped that there would be a good one left.
Word had spread quickly in the neighborhood the weeks before about my dads refusal to get a tree and word spread even quicker that we were finally going tree shopping. A few friends and cousins meet up with us and our Christmas Tree trip turned into a posse of kids and carolers celebrating the season. Before we left the house my mom had pulled Harold aside and asked if he was hungry and assured him she would get started on making his favorite, a Baked Ziti (Recipe below).
The trip felt like it took forever and I worried that a good tree would still be available. We arrived at the lot just as the snow ended and a bright winter sky filled with stars pointed my sister and I to the tree we wanted. We returned home, just as the Baked Ziti was coming out of the oven.
Harold and my father went to work on the lights while we decorated the tree. What hours before was only a wish shared with a bedtime prayer, now transformed our home into the visible wonders of the Christmas Season. The joy we all showed also seem to transform my dad, filling him with a holiday spirit that would stay with him the rest of his life.
Filled with this memory, I became distracted and barely noticed my wife and kids at the register, squaring up their tree purchase. “Come on dad we’re set to go. What do you think of this one'” as they held the tree up for my inspection. “Wait a second” I said “we’ve only been here a minute. Where’s the fight, the argument, you’re breaking tradition.” “We both love this one and besides its time to start a new tradition of making this trip fun with pleasant memories,” said my mature daughter.
Almost on cue a light snow began to fall through the still bright December sky. My wife sharing my surprise with the kids, said “Looks like this could be a good Christmas.” “Christmas is always good” I replied.
Gracie’s Baked Ziti:
Baked Ziti Ingredients:
- 2 cups ricotta cheese
- 1/2 pound mozzarella cheese, shredded
- 3/4 cup grated Parmesan cheese
- 2 tablespoons chopped fresh parsley
- 1/2 teaspoon salt
- 1/2 teaspoon pepper
- 2 large eggs, lightly beaten
- 1 pound Ziti pasta
- 2 cups of Sauce (more if needed)
Preparation:
1. In a large bowl combine the ricotta cheese, Parmesan cheese, parsley, salt, pepper, eggs and 3/4 of the mozzarella cheese.
2. Preheat the oven to 350 degrees and start boiling 4 cups of salted water. Add the pasta and cook until not quite al dente.
3. Drain the past and return to the pot. Combine drained pasta with the ricotta cheese mix and 1 cups of sauce. Mix all well.
4. Cover the bottom of a good size casserole dish with some of the remaining sauce and layer the pasta into the dish. Add the remaining sauce evenly and top with shredded mozzarella.
5. Bake for 20 minutes or until the Mozzarella is melted and lightly browned. Let sit for 5 minutes before serving.
Gracie’s Tip – Go out of your way to find fresh Ricotta Cheese. Any Italian Market will be sure to carry fresh Ricotta.
Happy Holidays Everyone!
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