I was never what you’d call an active kid. Sure, I played basketball, but that’s because literally every single other boy in my grade school class played basketball. That was a combination of peer pressure and not even realizing it was an option to not play. I wasn’t exactly hyperactive either. My mom has told me repeatedly that when I was young, you could give me a book and stick me in a corner and I wouldn’t move for hours.
Sure, I wasn’t active, but that doesn’t mean I was at peace.
I always loved reading. I always loved comics. I never got into sports. In other words, for many years I was the target of bullying. After all, if I didn’t watch all the football games on Sunday, what kind of boy was I? While the worst of it wouldn’t hit until eighth grade, I had never been popular.
I’d get home from school and hide in my room. If my parents let me, the tv in the living room was on cartoons or maybe Star Trek. I lost myself in other worlds.
And maybe that’s why the Christmas tree was always a wonder.
In our old house, the tree was always next to the couch. You could lay on the couch, with your head toward the tree, and look up and see only the magnificent golden lights. I’d turn off the lamps around the room and the overhead light. I’d attempt to turn off every light in the house except that tree.
And there in the glow of those lights, in the shadows of pine needles, I found peace. Every light was a little hope. No one chased me. I didn’t need another world to flee into. This one was just fine.
Dad would turn on a cassette of Christmas music: Canadian Brass or Manheim Steamroller. Maybe the King’s Singers. John Denver and the Muppets was another favorite. The notes would cocoon me. No need to worry.
A Baby has been born.
See the Light shining.
Hear the angels rejoice.
And soak in the light. Absorb that peace. Savor that moment of rest.
The tree was all I needed.
Jonathon Mast: Author 