My father and I celebrated only 2 Christmas holidays together in our new house. Yet they are memorable for mostly negative reasons. The first, Dad was recovering well from his heart attack and triple by-pass.
I wanted a Christmas tree, and a big one, the minute we stepped inside this house. There was a 30 ft cathedral ceiling, and our little one just wouldn't cut it here.
Since we are people who always take the easy route, we got a plastic tree. It was an 8 ft high one we purchased 2nd hand. Then we placed it atop a heavy 2 ft marble table in front of our high double-picture window. Soon we discovered we didn't have enough ornaments.
We bought a small bagful of decent ones at a thrift shop before heading to Walmart. Immediately a rack full of half-price clothes caught my eye! I raced toward it before disappearing in the dressing room. When I emerged, my father looked so angry you could almost see steam emanating from his body.
It's amazing he was never a case of spontaneous human combustion! I would not have been surprised to come down the stairs one day and find a charred and smouldering skeleton in his recliner. He certainly fit the profile!
"You look pissed," I said. "What's wrong?"
"We came here to buy ornaments and nothing else!" he snapped.
"But we have all afternoon," I reminded him.
"Well I don't want to be here all afternoon." My father fumed. He was angry for the remainder of the day.
On the way home we stopped at a Drug Store. I ran inside to pick-up his medication, plus a few other items. The place was crowded due to the holiday season. As usual, my father was sitting in the station wagon timing me with his watch. The minute I touched the car handle, I could hear him yelling because I took so long! This happened frequently.
Fast forward to the day after Christmas. We were getting ready to take the tree down. My friend Pat called long-distance with personal news. We talked for about 45 minutes. When I came downstairs, my father was just sitting there waiting. I thought he would have at least removed the ornaments.
We dismantled the tree, and put everything else in boxes. I wanted to store the Xmas stuff in our big garage. There was a huge cabinet that was nearly empty. It was the perfect spot.
"I don't want it there!" Dad snarled. He ordered me to put it in the crawlspace under the stairs. -- That spot is deep, narrow, dark, and filled with spiders! It has what I call an elf door. I have to get down on my hands and knees to maneuver in there. Plus I'm claustrophobic!
To make a long story short, that's where the tree ended up!
Six months later, my father suffered his stroke. The following Christmas was our final one together. Dad was dying of cancer, already on borrowed time.
After Christmas, when I dismantled the tree and boxed the ornaments, I told Dad I was putting the Xmas stuff in the garage. At this point, it was obvious even to him he would not be around for another holiday. So I didn't think he would object. -- Wrong!
"I told you I didn't want it there!" he hollered. "It's not up for argument!"
I informed him I wasn't crawling through that portal to Hell again! We'd have to find another place for the tree.
"Burn it, then!" He was furiously brandishing his arm in the air! "Burn it! Burn it!"
Arguing with him was useless. He got his way again. Because I knew that soon I could do anything I wanted with the tree. Including having it cremated with his cadaver!
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