My Father's Wisdom

This time of year always taps me on my shoulder with little reminders of my father, Carlin Joseph Gervais. It usually begins when I drag the tree down out of the attic. I think I don't believe in ghosts, (that usually congers up something evil) but spirits; there just might be something to that. As I zip open the the big bag that contains the reusable 8ft lighted tree, I am close to certain I hear him saying, "C'mon Earl let's go pick out this year's tree. Your momma wants a good Scottish Pine."

Then as I put the two sections together and begin to unfold all the man made branches, I swear I can see him start the engine, back out the driveway, and slip the car into drive. I hear myself asking, "Where are we going to get it this year?" Even though I know the answer because we are leaving early (we have to be heading to one of the tree farms in Mississippi) I want to hear him explain: "Thought we'd go to that spot on the way to Bay St. Louis that cuts 'em fresh for you. Ain't nothing like a fresh tree. Never could understand anyone who would put up a fake tree. It just isn't Christmas until you have a real tree up and decorated."

At this point I actually start talking out loud as I plug the lights in on the "unreal" tree, "Do you realize how many trees I have saved since I took my mother-in-law's tree off her hands." I'm talking to a plastic tree for crying out loud. Still I hear his answer; he was the most logical man I've ever known - held two degrees, one in Spanish and another in English. "Do you know why God put trees on the earth? When managed properly we will never run out no matter how many houses we build or Christmas trees we cut." He was always a big purveyor of moderation in everything (oh how many times I wished he would have followed his own advice when it came to his smoking and drinking, his grandchildren and maybe great grandchildren could have watched him trim a tree). What a sight that was.

Now, when it came to trimming the tree; I think he could have made a fortune if he would have started a tree trimming business - well maybe not. He would never let anyone else do it; well not without task master-like directions anyway. As I get the lights lit on my "sacrilege" I start to see him instructing each of us (all five siblings) on where to put this ornament, how to lay the garland, and what to put at the top (we are all arguing on whether to put a star or an angel; he usually decides on the angel) and then he tells one of his crazy Christmas stories. My favorite was always the Yes Virginia There Is a Santa Claus one. I wish he were telling one now. Rarely, if ever did he read a story; how can you remember all of them? The best is still yet to come.

I stand back and look at my tree. It really does look good. Artificial trees have really come a long way from the trees of my childhood. They are now built with material that unless you get really close and see the bolts holding the branches in place, you really can't tell the difference; some even have a pine smell. Now dad, how's that for technology? At this point I start to picture where I will put each ornament. Then I see him get out of his chair and go for the packs of tinsel. Will this be the year he lets us go for it (allow us to put on the tinsel)? Do they even make tinsel anymore? You know those very thin strips of foil that when placed properly make a tree look like it was reflecting some divine light. My brothers and sisters usually got distracted here but I lingered around hoping - maybe. He turns to me and hands me a pack, "Only if you place them one at a time; no throwing clumps." I agree to the terms and conditions.

Now the tree is complete. I look at my tree and I hear Cindy say from the other room, "No ornaments this year. Let's leave it just like that." I guess there are such things as spirits, because I start to hear something deep down inside. As I look at the tree, I think back to the days when Carly and Kira (my daughters all grown up with trees of their own to worry about) were standing next to me, eyes all wide, placing ornaments on - yes Carlin those were "real" trees - and I remember breaking out the tinsel, and I remember their eyes, one blue pair the other brown; and I remember my words, "Only if you place them one at a time; no throwing clumps." Oh how I wish he could have seen them; but then there it is again deep down inside, I know; he does see them. I sense his hand on my shoulder and I hear the whisper, we look at the tree, "Good job, well done."