O Christmas Tree

Each member of my family has a hand-knitted stocking gifted to them by my grandmother, either at birth or upon entry to the family. Every year, the stockings hang over the fireplace at my parents’ house, waiting to be filled on Christmas morning. The first Christmas after Amanda and I were married, my grandmother naturally knitted a new “Amanda” stocking and also hand-made us a set of our very own ornaments. Santa & Mrs. Claus have been the headliners of our family collection ever since.

“Retro” may be in vogue, but the condition of this ornament testifies to the fact that it is truly retro. I prefer to think of it as vintage. It is one of three battered ornaments still in my possession that appeared on every tree I can remember from childhood. All were carefully hung by my mother, who would tell me the history of each. I no longer remember the details, but I will never forget her expressions, nor my amazement at how someone of such formidable intellect could infect everyone around with her pure, childlike delight for all things Christmas.

Most people would toss 80 percent of what’s carefully stored in my Christmas-decorations boxes. Like my third-grade baked-dough candy cane and the hand-sewn felt angel from a little friend. I don’t even hang those two on my tree anymore. But each ornament unfolds from the tissue paper with wonderful memories. This plaid ball happens to be one of the valuable ones. Each year I hang it, I make sure that the friend who sent it knows I’m thinking of her and of her wonderful husband. He’s no longer alive on this earth. But he lives on my tree each Christmas.

My parents bought this ornament to commemorate my first Christmas (my mother claims that Kermit was all the rage with the 3-and-under crowd). I like the Muppets and all, but it’s significant because, though fragile, it has survived my annual application to our family tree for 31 years.

Last Thanksgiving, my sisters and I went to see a Quilts of Gee’s Bend Exhibit at the Philadelphia Museum of Art. The women quilters of Gee’s Bend used surprising color combinations and eclectic, imperfect patterns; the poetry stitched into these quilts quieted us. In the gift shop, I begged my older sister to buy me a blue, black, red and pink glassy ornament for Christmas; it was a steep price. When I lift the ball carefully from its red box each year, I’m reminded that, despite time and place, we can adopt pieces of history to become part of our own story.

Given to us as a wedding shower gift, this is my husband and I’s first (and only) Christmas ornament. It sits proudly atop the two-foot-tall tree in our one-bedroom apartment. Hey, you gotta start somewhere.

This ornament was bought for me when I was just 5 years old. One summer, after my Nana had been diagnosed with cancer, she and my Graddy took a trip to Australia to visit my uncle and stopped for two weeks in Hawaii. Graddy said it was the most beautiful place on earth, and they brought me back this ornament. It will always be a memento reminding me of two people who made me see love so clearly — and who made me so happy.

I don’t know if we would call it our favorite ornament, but the one that appears on our tree every year is of Chip ’n’ Dale (not Chippendale — no topless men on our tree). It plugs into the string of lights, so it’s not your standard hanging-on-a-hook ornament. The two chipmunks are sitting around a fire, roasting marshmallows. They are wearing Christmas clothes, and the fire lights up.

Each year, we decide what colors we want on the tree. However, no matter which colors we choose, Chip ’n’ Dale always make the cut.

My favorite ornament is one I’ve never hung. The E.T. ball was always designated to be hung by my older brother, Ben. Every year we would play Elvis’ “Blue Christmas,” make hot chocolate and dig through the boxes until someone (usually Ben) found E.T.

I could try to make an argument for why I like it: 1982 is my birth-year; my grandmother taught me how to play the theme song on piano as a boy; and my family has always thought of me as somewhat alien. But truth is, traditions are traditions. We can’t even remember how most of ours came about. But they’re part of what makes home, well, home.

My red chucks ornament was given to me the first Christmas that I was able to walk — so I’m told; I don’t remember. What I do remember is eagerly finding a place for it on the tree every year since.

It was the coolest ornament that I hung (chucks are just hip), but what sticks out most is how it was also the heaviest. And hanging such a heavy ornament was no quick feat (pun possibly intended); successfully hanging my chucks meant not just finding a branch strong enough, but one prominent enough. Shoes that cool need to be front and center.

Elves run in my family. The ornament variety, that is. This little spearmint-striped sprite is my favorite from all the family collections.

Whenever I visited my aunts at Christmastime, the first thing I’d do is run to see their trees and find these elves placed around them. Their little smiling faces always meant Christmas to me, and now they mean all the good things Christmas brings — family, excitement, treats.

The first generation of elves now belongs to my mother, and she gifted her set to me. I recently bought a set for myself to pass on to my children someday.

I have only a disheveled stack of memories of my Uncle Gary — he died when I was five. One memory is of him sitting at what seemed like the largest piano ever built. Spine arched. Elbows in. Head down.

My mother inherited many of Gary’s Christmas ornaments, and every year since his death, we have hung them on our family’s tree with great seriousness and ceremony. Because it embodies my uncle, his instrument, and the music we all share, my favorite is this porcelain figurine of Schroeder from A Charlie Brown Christmas seated at his tiny piano.

Beau and I received the set of Old World Christmas newlywed ornaments as a wedding gift from my grandparents. They were the first ornaments we had for our tree, and I love pulling them out each year, reading the note from my grandmother and finding a place for each one (high now — away from little fingers!)

According to family tradition, a newlyweds’ tree should include 12 ornaments to ensure happiness for their life together. Each in this set represents something different, but my favorite is the fish — representing God’s blessing. Each year, I’m reminded that if we have God’s blessing, the rest will follow.

My great-aunt — back curved like a spoon, body fastened to a ventilator — lived with my grandparents. As a kid she’d had polio, lived in a hospital with nuns and read books.

As a kid myself, I hated how she made me do my homework while she crocheted, how she never let me off the hook with an “I don’t know” answer. As an adult, I wish I had lingered a little longer by her bed.

But she knew that would happen. She left each of us intricately crocheted snowflake ornaments — starched white, tenacious little things — as a legacy.

Even though I was born only a week before Christmas, my mom made sure her new baby girl had her very own ornament on the tree that year. Growing up, I always looked forward to decorating the tree as a family. My mom would hand me my ornament to hang and tell me the story of how I was a great early Christmas present. I always thought the ornament was made just for me, since the baby in it has blonde hair and blue eyes. I would proudly hang it front and center, so everyone else could see it.

Our daughter Bethany’s mischievous streak and admirable frugality came to bear when she gave us a homemade Christmas ornament a few years ago: a crushed can of her father’s beloved Pepsi One, wrapped in a piece of paper that says, “A college student’s first X-Mas.”

As it happens, Bethany has since made a small business selling her finely crafted beadwork. This piece has none of that. It is by far the least “ornamental” of our Christmas ornaments, but it is perhaps the most treasured — reminding us of our sweet and hilarious daughter, now married and living too far away.