Dad's Annual Light War

Stephanie stomped the snow from her feet before entering her parents’ house. In the mudroom, she hung her coat, then exchanged boots for the slippers she’d carried in her purse. When she walked into the kitchen, her mother squealed on her way to smother her in a cinnamon-scented hug. “I’m so glad you’re here! We’re almost ready to start. Want a cookie? I made your favorite.”

The orange crinkles tempted her from the counter. And Mom had baked more than a dozen other kinds. On the tray was a bar, drop, cut, or filled cookie to meet any desire—chocolate, caramel, peanut butter, nuts, cherry, raspberry, apricot, lemon, coconut… Bakeries had smaller selections.

Mallory leaned in the archway leading to the dining room. “Don’t eat all the seven-layer surprises. She made those for me.”

Though Steph hadn’t had a crinkle yet, she popped one of her sister’s favorites into her mouth.

“You always were a brat.” Mal grinned as she hugged her sister. Then she snatched an orange cookie.

Stephanie stuck out her tongue as she took one in each hand.

“Girls. There’s plenty to go around.” Mom shoved the tray into Mallory’s hands. “Take this into the living room. I’ll bring in the eggnog.”

As they left the kitchen, Mal asked, “Mom tell you?”

“Tell me what?” Steph scooted around the boxes of decorations on the floor as she made her way toward the sofa.

“Dad has a surprise this year.”

“Oh? He manage to find a tree with a straight trunk?”

Her sister put the tray on the coffee table and laughed. “That would be a first.”

“You girls are terrible.” Mom set the punchbowl beside the cookies.

“Just telling it like it is.” Stephanie grabbed a peanut butter blossom.

“Better not let him hear you say that.” She shook her head. “I’ll go get the cups and ladle.”

“Yeah, Steph. Not all the trunks were crooked.” Mallory selected a caramel chew from the tray. “Remember the year he boasted about finding a tree that was perfectly straight?”

“You mean the year he kept trimming a little off the bottom of the trunk because it wasn’t sitting right in the stand?”

“That’s the one.” She studied the tray for a moment, then selected a cocoa drop. “Leveled it and leveled it until it was three feet tall.”

They burst into laughter.

Mom returned with napkins as well as the cups and ladle. “Do I even want to ask?”

“We were just remembering the year we had to put the tree on a box for a week because he cut too much from the bottom,” Mallory said.

“You nagged and nagged until he finally bought a replacement tree.”

“It was so late in the season, it was as bare as Charlie Brown’s.”

Steph grabbed a napkin. “Dad complained the entire time he undecorated the first tree and redecorated the second.”

“Then all the needles fell off overnight.”

The girls dissolved into uncontrollable giggles.

The corners of Mom’s lips trembled, but she kept a straight face. “That wasn’t funny.”

“You’re right. It was hilarious.” Stephanie dropped onto the couch and held her stomach. It hurt from laughing. Or from too many cookies. Possibly—probably—both.

Mallory sat beside her. “What about the year it was around two degrees outside. Dad said it was the perfect time to go because no other fools would be out.”

“Key word in that sentence? Fools.”

“We found the perfect tree the second we got out of the car.” Mal pointed at Mom. “But you made us hike over seven million miles of hills to make sure there wasn’t a better one.”

“Only to go back to the first tree.” Steph shook her head. “I thought Dad was going to burst a blood vessel, he was so mad.”

“I thought I was going to lose some fingers and toes.”

“You girls exaggerate. It was only a couple of hills. Maybe four. And it wasn’t two degrees.”

“What was it?” Mal asked. “A balmy ten?”

“Wasn’t that the tree Dad had to wire to the wall with that giant hook because it was too big?”

“No.” Mom sighed. “That was the following year. I insisted on the first tree we found because I was tired of listening to everyone complain about the mile-long hike the year before in frigid temperatures.”

“A mile?” Stephanie scoffed. “More like a marathon. You got the ‘frigid’ part right, though.”

“Anyway, he told me it would be too big, but I was determined to get the first tree and be done with it, no matter what. The dumb thing ended up scraping the ceiling when he stood it in the stand.”

“It flung open like an umbrella when he cut the twine.” Mal chuckled. “Dad got pinned in the corner and couldn’t get out. He said some colorful words that day.”

“He says colorful words every year. First, there’s the search for the tree. Always a fiasco. Next, there’s the trimming of the trunk and getting it in the stand. That’s usually good for a tirade or two. Then, there are the lights.”

"Ugh. The lights."

“Your father does seem to fight an annual battle with those.”

“That’s putting it mildly.” Mallory poured herself a cup of eggnog. “They work when we test them, but they always go out at some point in the decorating process.”

Steph shook her head. “It’s an issue just getting them ready to test. I know when we take them off the tree, we don’t tie them in a big knot ball. How does that happen in storage?”

“Yeah. And why are we the ones always assigned to untangle them?”

Mom shrugged. “Well, your hands are more delicate than his. You’ll be gentler.”

“You could do it,” Mallory said.

“I don’t have the patience.”

“And we do?” Stephanie’s eyebrows shot up. “I’m really only here to see what you two argue about this time.”

“It’s the highlight of my year,” Mal added. “That, and the cookies.”

“Well, yeah, the cookies.” Despite her stomach ache, Steph grabbed another orange crinkle.

“We don’t argue every year.”

“You absolutely do. Without fail. If we videoed it and put it on YouTube, we'd make a fortune.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Mom chose a cheesecake cupcake from the tray, then sat on the edge of her favorite chair. “Besides, this year will be different. Your father has a surprise.”

“Which is?” Mal asked.

“I’ll tell you.” Dad’s voice came from the hallway. It was more of a grunt than actual speech.

“You need help?” Stephanie and Mallory called in unison.

“Nope.” Red-faced from effort, he stepped into the living room. Instead of dragging a live tree behind him, he hauled in a giant box.

“Aww, come on,” Mal said.

“No, Dad.”

“Yes, Steph. I’m tired of the hassle of the real tree. The hikes through the woods. Making it fit in the stand. The tangled ball of misery.”

Mallory crossed her arms. “We deal with the lights, not you.”

“It’s all a pain. This is simple.”

“It’s not a real tree, Dad,” Stephanie said. “It’s going to smell like plastic, not pine.”

“Then light a candle or buy an air freshener. The two of you don’t even come with me and your mother to choose the tree anymore. It’s too much work.”

“We’ll go to help pick it out. Won’t we, Mal?”

“Of course.”

“No. It’s done. Times change, and for once, I think it's for the better. This is the kind you don’t even have to figure out how to connect the plugs. When the trunk snaps together, the circuit closes. Not only that, but there’s a remote control that lets us pick a color scheme. We can have all different colors, all white, or a bunch of different combinations. Solid red, solid green—”

“Not green,” Mom said. “I hate green lights.”

“We don’t have to have green lights, Carol. It’s just one of the options. We can have all blue. Or red, white, and blue. Or—”

“It’s not a patriotic tree. It’s Christmas.”

“You’re missing the point. We can have whatever we want.”

“I think all white would be nice.”

“Isn’t that boring?”

“Well, I don’t want a Fourth of July tree in December.”

“You don’t have to have red, white, and blue, Carol. You’re not listening. You never listen.”

“I did listen. You said red, white, and blue.”

“I said that’s one option of many.”

Stephanie elbowed her sister and whispered, “Here they go.”

Mallory chuckled, poured another glass of eggnog, then sat back to watch the show.

“No, Bradley. I didn’t say we had to have all white. I said I thought it would be nice.”

“That’s the same thing.”

“It’s not. We can have whatever colors you want.”

He scowled. “That’s what I said.”

“And I agree.”

“But not red, white, and blue.”

“Well, of course not.” Mom flung her hands in the air. “Christmas isn’t a patriotic holiday.”

“Red and green, then. That screams Christmas.”

“What about just red?”

“Isn’t that too Valentine’s Day-ish for you?”

“All green would be too St. Patrick’s Day-ish.”

“I didn’t ask for all green, Carol.”

“You said all red.”

“How is all red the same as all green?”

She sighed. “Set up the tree, Brad. We’ll find a color scheme when you’re done.”

It didn’t take Dad long to assemble the tree, which was kind of disappointing. Half the fun of tree-trimming day was watching him wage war with the trunk, stand, and lights. But this stupid artificial monstrosity snapped together with no problems at all.

“See that?” He stood back and proudly surveyed his work.

“Where’s the remote?” Mom asked.

“I’m going to take that as, ‘It’s lovely, Brad. Great job.’”

“Take it however you like. Where’s the remote? I want to see what colors we can select.”

Glowering at Mom, he grabbed the remote. But he didn’t pass it over. Like all men, he seemed to feel an attachment to the thing and didn’t want to let it go. Instead, he showed it to her and pointed at the different buttons. “See here? This one turns it on and off.” He pressed it. The tree’s lights came on solid white. “This one makes them twinkle.” After another push, the lights started to blink on and off. “And this one goes through the colors.”

“I think I got it, Brad.” Mom reached for the controller.

Dad gripped it tighter.

The lights started cycling through different options. All the colors. Solid blue. Only pink—which seemed an odd choice for a Christmas tree. The patriotic palette. Red and green.

“Would you just give it to me?” Mom yelled and yanked the remote out of his hand.

The tree glowed solid green.

She pressed a button.

Nothing happened.

Pushed it again.

No change.

Mom started stabbing at the controls.

Still, the tree shined green.

“See what you did, Bradley?” She flung the remote at him. “Now we’re stuck with this stupid St. Patrick’s Day tree. Might as well hang clovers and rainbows and pots of gold on the boughs. Maybe some little leprechauns.”

“I bet Santa wouldn’t mind a bottle of Guinness or two tucked into the branches,” Stephanie said.

Mom glared at her before stomping into the kitchen.

“What is it with you and Christmas lights, Dad?” Mallory asked.

“Me? Your mother did this. I think the button’s stuck. Artificial tree, and I still need my tools.” He was swearing under his breath as he left the room, picking at the device.

Mal opened one of the boxes on the floor. She handed Stephanie an ornament before hanging one on the tree. “Now, it feels like a Navarro family tree-trimming party.”

The green lights flickered, then the tree went dark. “No," Steph said. “Now it feels right.”