MY FIRST CHRISMAS TREE

      

           I was 23 years old when I finally moved out of my mom's apartment. If I ever tell you my life story you'll know that this was hard to do, leaving my mom alone, but it was time to leave the nest so I flew.
       My friend Iris and I had rented a downstairs apartment, in a Brownstone in Park Slope,  Brooklyn.  This was before everyone renovated to make condos out of these wonderful one family buildings. 
      What our family had done was block off the staircase that led to the upstairs and made a closet to separate the house from the tenants.  (I just noticed how possessive I am. Our family, not the family who owned the Brownstone).
      
          We moved in during the summer and it was our first Christmas. I love Christmas. I still do.  Ever since I was a little girl I used to love going around to stores to ogle  all the beautiful decorations. Our dysfunctional nuclear family would take a night to drive all around Brooklyn to go  what we called "Christmas tree spotting". We didn't have a tree of our own. First, I suppose it was partly because we never celebrated anything except for Thanksgiving, and secondly we were Jewish.
     
      My Dad did once bring home a little round tree from work. Now that I think about it, it was probably a gift from one of his girlfriends, but that too is another story.
      I was maybe 10 or 11 thought it was so pretty that I put it in our front window when I came home from school. It was lit up with it's blinking colored lights and felt wonderful. The tree may have only been a foot tall,  but it was there, shining for all the world to see.  That, as it turned out, was a problem.

  My mother came home from work couldn't have missed it. She marched into the house and  proceeded to have a conniption fit.  "What is wrong with you"?  "What will the neighbors think?" "Take that thing out of the window NOW!!!"  That was mom. If it was behind closed doors, who cared, but if the outside world knew, OMG. 

    So I was forced to remove it and we never had a tree in the house again. As an aside, we never had a menorah. As far as I could tell, it was Christmas 1, Chanukah 0.

  Now, I was on my own and damned if I weren't going to celebrate my favorite holiday. Iris was also Jewish, but she liked the idea as well. We trudged out in the cold to some usually empty lot in the neighborhood where they were now occupied to sell live trees.  And live it was we wanted  We wanted a full, tall, live tree.  And that's what we got. 

  You can see from the photo that we found one. It just about hit the ceiling.  Imagine the two of us lugging this tree through the streets. I suppose describing "us" would help.  I was a little heavier then than I am now, but I was still thin and 5'3".  Iris was taller, maybe 5'5", but she weighed over 300 pounds. A bit like a female Laurel and Hardy.  Picture these two young women in their early twenties, bundled up with hats and scarves and boots, wending out way through the lightly snow covered streets.  Carrying a tied up, heavy tree. These days, we could have used a phone to take a picture. Those days, we were lucky to have a phone in the apartment, although I must have had a camera since I have a picture of the tree.

   Such anticipation. Setting up our tree and presenting it for the world to see. Well, okay not maybe the world, but anyone who walked or drove down third street. Our apartment had an unusual set up for a brownstone. Most have the entrances that you go down some steps, and the door is under the staircase leading to the house. Out of sight.  Our door was next to the staircase and in full view of the street.  There was even  a window panel or either side of the glass door. Perfect. For people looking in. That too is another story.  As you see, I have lots and lots of them.

    We brought the tree in and untied her ropes and let her fir fly.  We put her in her stand and something wasn't right. No matter what we did, she wouldn't' stand up. Upon further review of the matter we discovered what was wrong. Our tree had a severe case of scoliosis. Her trunk was skewed so she couldn't balance herself.

    We did the only thing we could do. And trust me, we tried anything we could think of.  In the end our only option was to set her in the corner and lean her against the wall where it would hold her up. We were sorely disappointed that she wouldn't be a sight for the neighbors, but lying on the floor wasn't the type of sight we had in mind.

     We had to be very careful when we decorated her or went near her, as she had a tendency to list with the lightest touch. Still we loved our tree. I believe she was a Douglas Fir. Thick and with that beautiful scent that filled the air. Ah Tannenbaum.

      All was well until Iris got a phone call from her parents saying they wanted to visit her.  This was a very, very, big deal. She had lived on her own for over three years  and her folks had never been to visit her in any of her apartments. I take it they disapproved of her moving out. But, why now?  They were Orthodox Jews and were not going to be pleased that her daughter and room mate had a huge, flipping Christmas tree. No menorah in sight yet again. (Christmas 2, Chanukah 0). We couldn't hide the tree and taking her down and attempting to put her back up wasn't an option. So,we did what all children do at some point in their lives. We lied to her parents. (I am going to lie now too about my last name and use a fictitious one. I always hated my maiden name and still do).  So let's pretend is was Levy. Her parents thought that I was also Jewish so she would be busted big time.

    We thought about telling them that my name was O'levy and that I was  half Irish.  Somehow even our addled brains realized that would seem ridiculous. . My last name was on the door anyway, so we couldn't do that.  We finally opted for the easiest lie.  My dad was Jewish and my mom was Catholic. I was brought up with Catholic traditions so I had to have my tree.

    I was not around when her folks visited. I never met them.  It went well. Or that's what I seem to recall.  That part was her drama and not mine.  There are only so many tales one can keep track of.

     I do remember that those were some heady times. First apartment, first real jobs, new friends, living on our own. Figuring out who we were and who we might become.
     And I loved Iris. She was funny, compassionate and smart. We spent many nights just talking. And I remember, even back then that she was unusual. She also listened. So good night Iris. And thanks for the memories.

ps.  Our tree from three years ago. Artificial and not listing. And a few more decorations as well.