Allergic to Tradition

During my childhood, our holiday décor always included a fake Christmas tree – vibrant green, flawlessly shaped, and standing confidently in a corner of the living room. I never pondered why a real tree never graced our home; it was simply accepted as tradition. The artificial tree guaranteed ease: no pine needles scattered across the floor, no need for daily watering, and the financial wisdom of reusing it each year. It was only later, when visiting friends' houses filled with the aromatic fragrance of real fir trees, that I began to question my mother’s choice of a polyvinyl chloride tree. Nevertheless, there was a certain comfort in the routine and reliability of our fake tree, adorned with sparkling lights and carefully packed ornaments that seemed to preserve the essence of Christmases gone by. Looking back, those synthetic trees acted as more than mere decorations – they silently witnessed family gatherings and embodied a holiday spirit intertwined with both pragmatism and nostalgia.

In high school, I vividly recall the moment when Mom admitted she couldn’t recall why we had stopped using real Christmas trees and announced her plan to go to Mitchell to pick one out. The thrill of heading to the Menards’ parking lot in search of the perfect pine tree with its vibrant, fragrant scent was a stark contrast to simply pulling out a lifeless plastic tree from the attic. However, after selecting the ideal tree, I faced the unpleasant chore of grappling with its sharp needles as I untied it from the top of the car and carried it through the house to the living room, where it sat proudly in front of our picture window. As we adorned the prickly branches with lights and reached through the spiky foliage to hang ornaments, the fresh pine aroma filled the room, triggering my first sniffle. Before long, Mom would remember why we had always used artificial trees.

After we finished adorning the tree, I became aware of a persistent itch running along my arms, accompanied by a runny nose. I dismissed these symptoms, assuming they were caused by the dry winter air or perhaps a mild allergic reaction to the pine needles. Nevertheless, as I relaxed on the couch, admiring the freshly decorated tree, I experienced several bouts of sneezing, and the itching intensified, an unmistakable indication that my body was reacting negatively to the sparkling tree. Despite these early symptoms, I went upstairs to bed, convinced that everything would be fine by morning.

During the night, hives spread over my arms, and my eyes became swollen and crusted with sleep. Upon waking, I found my eyes practically glued shut and noted bloodied patches where I had scratched my arms in my sleep. Feeling disoriented, I got out of bed and made my way downstairs to seek my mother’s help. As I arrived, a few sneezes escaped my swollen lips, announcing my presence. Mom looked up, a mixture of surprise and amusement crossing her face, before she remarked, “Ahhh, now I remember why we stopped bringing real Christmas trees into the house!”

Throughout that memorable Christmas season, Mom and I found ourselves chuckling through the chaos caused by my allergy to the traditional Christmas tree. Each day, she gently applied Calamine lotion to the itchy hives until they vanished. Meanwhile, between sneezing fits and grumbles, I took Benadryl, which made me drowsy and irritable but seemed ineffective in relieving my symptoms. To add to our troubles, the real pine tree we had carefully selected turned into a nightmare of shedding needles and dripping sap, littering the living room floor with mess after mess. Despite the discomfort and small setbacks, those silly moments - Mom’s tender care, my groggy complaints, and our mutual irritation with the messy tree – blended into a memory that never fails to make me chuckle.

Following that miserable Christmas, marked by swollen eyes and itchy arms which overshadowed my holiday spirit, Mom chose to go back to our traditional artificial tree. While the fragrance and charm of a genuine pine brings undeniable holiday magic, she recognized that my allergies had significantly dampened our festive mood. The artificial tree, which had been stored in the attic for a year, once again became our dependable centerpiece – offering green branches without the sneezing, runny nose, or needle debris. Through the rest of our Christmases in Ethan, we decorated the same tree at the start of Advent with thoughtfully picked ornaments and twinkling string lights. Though slightly worn, the tree radiated holiday cheer, allowing us to fully enjoy the season without the burden of allergies. Ultimately, the artificial tree emerged not only as a practical solution but also a comforting symbol that traditions can adapt to protect the joy and well-being of the entire family.