Memories of Christmases past

DIOKNO

A tree of a lifetime as new ornaments hang next to old treasured momentous.

Ahh, another Christmas is upon us and I can't help but luxuriate in the warm blanket of memories of past Christmases. 

Through the years, the holidays have taken on different meanings as we go through different stages of life.

Some people say that New Years is the time of year when people pause to reflect – about their lives, about the past year, about everything.

For me, memories begin stirring with the selection of a Christmas tree. I remember when my mother went through the artificial tree phase. The aluminum kind. They were so clean, she must have thought. No messy needles to clean up. She would get one of those spotlight with revolving colored gels and aim it at the tree. It was like living in a discothèque.

Sorry, Mom. It was then that I swore I’d never buy an artificial tree.

When my daughters were younger, we’d go out to the tree farms and pick a tree to cut down. It would take hours, hiking through the trees, trying to find the perfect symmetrical tree. Of course, nature never makes the perfect symmetrical tree.

After we settle on one that kinda looked symmetrical, kinda looked straight, kinda looked like it would fit in our living room, we’d begin the process of sawing one down. The girls would try but they tired easily after a few rips and it was up to ol’ dad to do his manly job of cutting down the tree.

Afterwards, when the girls got older, we finally settled on those tree lots that popped up this time of year full of freshly cut trees from Oregon so we were told. We’d go to lot to lot searching for the perfect symmetrical tree. We’d pick one out and inspect it limb by limb. We’d circle it to make sure assure ourselves of the symmetry.

Nowadays, I go by myself. I’ve grown wise enough to stop looking for the perfect symmetrical tree. In fact, if there is a flaw I simply say the tree’s got character. It becomes my tree because of its uniqueness. No other tree has that bare spot.

Each decoration has a story. There are the brightly jeweled bulbs my mother so loved. They looked like jewelry back then but looking at them now, some of the colored glass have fallen out. I put them on the tree.

One year, before she discovered artificial trees, my mom decided to have all red silk bulbs on the tree. A few of them have survived to make it on my tree.

The little lanterns are probably from the first set of Christmas decorations we had in the United States after coming from the Philippines. Their bright shiny colors have dulled and show numerous chips, but still seek them out to hang up at least one. As a three-year old, I thought, "What a great country."

The public housing we lived in then is still there. The projects are now called "affordable housing" where a new set of immigrants try to establish themselves. 

The ornaments that look like globes of jewelry were bought in Japan when our family joined my father, who was serving in the U.S. Army.

My wife started her own tradition of getting a new ornament for every year that passes. That could really add up after a few scores of years.

The beautifully hand-painted and fragile globes we bought on a trip to Austria.

My favorite ornaments are the ones made by my daughters when they were in kindergarten and the early primary grades. Their teachers must have known how valuable these keepsakes would become through the years because they always had the students make them. I can imagine their little hands meticulously making them, brows furrowed in concentration as they colored and cut them out.

One is as simple of a drawn Christmas tree that had been badly colored and then roughly cut out when the hand-eye coordination was still developing. One is a dove cut from a paper plate. One is made of macaroni that had been glued in a circle then painted gold. Clothespins glued and painted to look like a reindeer. A crudely cut gingerbread man hangs on one branch. A ring of pretzels have somehow survived through the years. One is simply colored paper encircling a photo of beautiful 6-year-old brown girl with bright eyes and chubby cheeks. Her smile is forever. A branch over is photo of another beautiful Filipina whose face lights up the tree.

Memories of Christmases past flash through my mind. Where did the years go? Where did those little girls go?

I thank the teachers who made the girls make those decorations. I hang every single treasure on my tree. We've added new ornaments from our travels: The figurines blessed at the Vatican, the clay mission from the American southwest, the delicately decorated bulbs from a Christmas store in Vienna.

This year my grandson helps decorate the Christmas tree. I pass on these warm memories and stories about his family, many of whom he will never meet. We'll laugh, and tell the stories behind each ornament. I'll try to not shed a tear.

EDITOR'S NOTE: For additional commentary, news and views from an AANHPI perspective, follow @DioknoEd on Twitter. A shorter version of this post was published in the Contra Costa Times.

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