The Ugly Tree

On my very last day as a classroom teacher, my last day before moving to school administration full time, I took one last long look around my band room, saw the ugly Christmas tree in its dilapidated box and thought, “you’re coming with me.” Not unlike The Grinch, I stuffed the tree in the trunk of my car on my last trip out the door. I knew that if it stayed, there is no way it would be kept. The new band director would take one look at it and assume it was broken, and if not broken, too ugly and sparse to be considered an appropriate Christmas decoration, and they’d be right. 

Where did we even get the ugly tree? And why was such a tree in a high school band room? The answer, of course, is simple. I stole it. 

The Secret Santa party was a long standing tradition in the Oak Park High School band room by the time I got hired. It may still be, although I can’t be sure. The last day of the fall semester, we would say to hell with music and just gather, have an exorbitant amount of snacks, and exchange gifts, revealing who was who’s Secret Santa and have a nice little time.

In an uncharacteristic move (for me anyhow), once a year on this special day, I would turn our little high school band room into a winter wonderland, just for this party. The night before the party, I’d put my own kids to bed at home then head to school, often spending hours stringing lights from one end of the rehearsal space to another, setting up multiple Christmas trees, tinsel, little Santa figures, you name it. 

As with most things, but especially gaudy things, each year exceeded the previous year. When I got hired, there was one tree that rivaled Charlie Brown’s. We then added a few strands of lights and a full size tree. Eventually, we had a tree donated to us from a family, and I stumbled upon a treasure trove of extra lights, so we expanded. Each year the students arrived earlier and earlier in the morning, and it got to the point in which I would arrive at work only to find half the band waiting behind the locked door, eager to get the first glimpse of our Wonderland. 

One year, our theater department was putting on a play, the setting of which took place primarily in the forest. A handful of my band students were also theater students (of course) and they approached me to ask if they could borrow our two Christmas trees for stage props. This was in the Spring, long after our party, and long before our next one, so I obliged. 

Well. I didn’t give another thought to those trees until the night of my one man decorating party the following December. I arrived at school after putting my kids to sleep, started unknotting the lights, and could not, for the life of me, find any of our Christmas trees. I called a couple of my assistants until one of them suggested, “did you ever get them back from the play last spring?” 

I hadn’t! I don’t know why this made me as mad as it did, but I was fuming. I stormed to the theater storage area, flipped on the light, and discovered the equivalent of a Christmas tree morgue. This is why I didn’t get my trees back, they were quite obviously thrown in a pile - not in boxes- and left there, never to be returned to their owners. My assumption is that most people donated their trees with no expectations of getting them back, but not me, dammit!

So I did what any somewhat angry guy in his early 30s with a shoestring budget for high school fun would do. I found my two trees, stuffed them in a couple of random boxes and took them back to my classroom. Then I went back to the tree morgue, found a couple more trees, stuffed them in random boxes, and took them back to my room. I then went back for round three, and suddenly our band room looked like a beautiful trashy Narnia! Six Christmas trees, two of which were somewhat nice looking, four of which were holding on for dear life, leveled up our Secret Santa party once again! To my knowledge, five of those trees are still sitting in my old band room, and one sits now in my storage room at home.

Last December, I sent a text to as many former band kids that I have phone numbers for, with a photo of the ugly tree as I set it up in my house. I’m not generally that sentimental, but the right combination of Frank Sinatra Christmas music and eggnog must bring out the best in me. I didn’t expect any of the former students to respond, but I wanted them to know that the ugly tree still existed. This was my holiday greeting.

Most of them did respond, and we took a fun filled trip down memory lane. Photos were shared, stories- mostly embarrassing things they remembered about me- were told, and for about fifteen minutes, it felt like a family reunion. The moment stays with me because that was one of the moments I “got it.” I’ve always understood that the job of being an educator is bigger than words in a book, a problem to be solved, or in my case, music notes on a page, yet sitting in my pajamas, reminiscing with students who have long since graduated about a hideous Christmas tree that I stole in a fit of rage, I understood that this job can alter another human’s trajectory, even if only slightly, if you simply allow it to happen.