Because I Could Touch the Top

My husband and oldest son went Christmas tree shopping a couple of weeks ago as the stand broke on our cheap-ass Walmart fake tree and we were going to need a new one.
When the boy came home he excitedly informed me that he had seen the BEST THING EVER! A WHITE CHRISTMAS TREE!
I recoiled somewhat, in horror.
White Christmas trees remind me of textured wallpaper and shag carpet. Of teased hair and bridge mix served at holiday parties where kids steal drinks out of misplaced cups of Tom Collins and egg nog. White Christmas trees, were in fact, 1952.
But the boy went on about the white tree. For days. "Mom, just think about it, it would be so cool. I've never seen a WHITE christmas tree before. Think about how neat it would be."
He kept working the angle about how awesome the white tree would be and how pretty he thought it was and it hit me a few days ago. And I gave in.

Because you see my favorite story about my Grandpa Drake actually involves a Christmas tree. I don't even remember this event, but I remember the story well. My Grandpa took me out to get a Christmas tree, a real one off a lot that in my imagination is right out of a movie. When we returned back to my grandma's house apparently everyone stood back somewhat surprised, and probably annoyed. We had arrived back at the family Patriarchal Home with the shortest Christmas tree anyone had ever seen. He had let me have that one solely because I could touch the top. It was important to me and he let me have it. Because I was important to him.

So let me tell you about my White Christmas Tree..........