Today I put up our tree.
Nothing fancy, nothing dramatic — but it hit me harder than I expected. Last year was a whirlwind, and we had a makeshift tree, but this year… this year I found myself really thinking:
What is the Christmas tree really about? What does it mean?
For me, it’s a time machine.
A memory maker.
A symbol of every simple, goofy, heartfelt moment that shaped the Christmases of my life.
A Tree Through a VW Bug Sunroof
I grew up with my single mom during our early years in California, and she loved having a real tree. Let me set the scene:
We had a Volkswagen Bug.
With a crank sunroof.
And yes — we shoved a Christmas tree right through the top of it.
I remember standing in the back seat, cranking open that sunroof like it was some high-tech invention, then holding onto the tree while my mom shifted gears like we were part of some undercover holiday mission.
We didn’t have much, but those moments?
Simple.
Silly.
Perfect.
Even now, it brings a smile to my face. That’s the magic of Christmas — it doesn’t require a lot. It just needs love, laughter, and maybe a slightly unsafe method of transporting a Douglas fir.
Grandma’s Tree of Wonders
Then there was Grandma’s tree — the giant, ancient fake tree that lived in a box older than I was. Every year, I’d help her unbox it and attempt to match up the faded color codes on the branches.
Did the colors make sense?
Nope.
Did we eventually get that thing looking like a tree?
Absolutely.
And then came my favorite part: the bubble lights.
Not just the classic ones — she also had these jalapeño-shaped bubble lights from some friend way back. I thought they were the coolest things ever. Watching them heat up and bubble felt like magic.
The ornaments were their own museum:
– Some old
– Some from trips to the Holy Land
– Some homemade by me, my uncle, and my mom
Every piece mattered. Every piece had a story.
The Stocking Jackpot
But then… there were the stockings.
Let me tell you — Grandma’s stockings were legendary.
She was sneaky, too. If a box was square, she’d put it in a tube. If it was small, she’d pack it in a giant box. All because I was a pretty good guesser just by sound, smell, and touch.
Christmas morning, I’d make a beeline straight for the stockings because that was where the good stuff hid.
There was always an orange (which didn’t impress me — I lived in California; we had oranges everywhere).
But then came the Life Savers storybook.
Butter rum? Cherry?
That was peak childhood joy.
And every year, I somehow ended up with the leftover change Grandpa collected all year. I swear I won the Christmas kid lottery every single time.
Building My Own Traditions
Those memories built the way I do Christmas today.
We have a fake tree — no more hauling one out of a sunroof.
I still do stockings, but let me tell you… Grandma had it easy with one stocking. I’ve got four stocking, wife, kids, plus their boyfriends and girlfriends. It’s a whole mission.
But hey — I flip stuff. The hunt is in my DNA. I love it.
A few years back, my wife and I started taking a Christmas trip — partly to get gifts, but mostly to escape the chaos and get into the spirit together. No rushing. No pressure. Just time. Just us.
It Was Never About the Gifts
If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s this:
The tree isn’t about perfection.
It’s about presence.
It’s about the memories:
– Real trees tied to sunroofs
– Bubble lights that made the living room glow
– Stockings stuffed with surprises
– Sneaky wrapping tricks
– Laughing at the things that went wrong
– And cherishing the things that went right
Burn the turkey?
No big deal.
But don’t miss the side hugs, the laughter, the goofy moments, and the stories that will become the memories your kids cling to one day.
Enjoy the small things.
Because they’re not small at all.
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A heartfelt reflection on the true meaning of the Christmas tree — childhood memories, grandma’s bubble lights, stockings filled with treasures, and creating new traditions with family. A cozy, nostalgic holiday story reminding us to enjoy the small things and cherish the moments that matter most.
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