O' Christmas Tree

One thing I’ve learned in my business is that different people get impressed by different things. Tonight I was standing outside on the Ellipse, that grassy patch south of the White House, in sub-freezing temperatures, watching a few white flakes floating down on us. I was just standing there in the crisp winter night air, staring at something that impresses me. Something my German-born mother never got to see. Something that is low tech, natural, old fashioned and just too cool.

Yeah, I’m awed by our Christmas tree. I mean the one that’s all our Christmas tree. The National Christmas Tree.

For 82 years we’ve had a National Christmas Tree in the District. In 1954 they added a "Pathway of Peace." The pathway is 56 smaller decorated trees planted so they surround the National Christmas Tree. They represent all 50 states, the five territories and of course D.C. Every year, sponsors from each state provide the decorations. If you look close, you can see each one is encased in a plastic globe to protect it from the weather. The tree and the pathway are lit up from sundown to 11 p.m. every day until New Years. It’s a great sight, an inspiring sight for this boy who grew up in Europe, and I’m not out here alone. Aside from us gawkers, there’s some group out here in the cold playing music every night.

Looking at that benign beauty, that tall, green, colorfully decorated and garishly illuminated evergreen symbol of life, I had to wonder just how anybody could find a Christmas tree offensive. I mean, sure if you saw it as a pagan symbol or a false idol we were worshiping, then maybe. But otherwise, I don’t get it. I don’t get offended by five pointed stars or crescents and moons. And as I think about it, that’s not even relevant, because those are actual religious symbols. To most of us in this country, a Christmas tree is just a decoration.

In Boston, they called theirs a holiday tree until the public outcry got so loud that the Mayor and Parks Commissioner had to back down. Theirs IS symbolic in a way, an annual gift from Nova Scotia to thank the people of Boston for their generosity after a munitions ship blew up in Halifax harbor during World War I. When the donor heard that the tree wouldn’t be called a Christmas tree any more, he threatened to shove the whole thing in the chipper. That seemed to have the right effect.

Out on the West Coast, where Santa Claus wears shorts half the time, Encinitas, California had a holiday parade a few years ago, but this year it’s a Christmas parade again. It’s not in any way a religious parade. It’s all in fun. And people of all faiths are welcome to enjoy it, just like the forest giant I was staring up at tonight.

You see, the thing is, to most of the people I know Christmas isn’t a religious holiday anyway. It’s a holiday for kids, overloaded with American traditions borrowed from all the people who came here. Snowmen. Reindeer. Santa. Lights. All that stuff the Grinch stole, none of which involved a baby in a manger. Of course, you’re free to worship on that day and put up a manger too as long as you don’t piss somebody off by sitting it in front of a mosque or synagogue. You don’t want to be snotty and push your religion up in anybody’s face. But when my mama talked about the Christmas spirit she sure as hell didn’t mean the Holy Ghost. She just meant the simple phrase she taught me in Germany: Peace on earth, good will toward men. That’s the Christmas spirit. Lots of Jews have it. Lots of Moslems have it. I even know a couple of atheists who have it. And standing there in front of our national peace symbol in sight of the President’s house I realized that if you want to change a simple tradition like putting up a Christmas tree, well, you ain’t got it.

Monte’s Reading List

I didn’t even look up when my pal Monte walked into my office. The private eye business requires a lot of specialized skills, but typing isn’t one of them. So I’m still a two-finger guy, although I can get going pretty fast that way.

“So H, what you call me over for?” Monte asked. I’m lucky to find myself mentoring a bright young fellow who lives right across the street from me. I sometimes wish he didn’t have to grow up here in SouthEast DC, but like a lot of barely-teenaged Black guys he’s a hardy plant that would grow wherever you planted him. And he generally responds when I call him, even if he thinks it’s to get him to do some work. He’s a good kid, even if his pants can’t seem to find his waist.

“Relax, kid. I’m just putting something together for you. Remember a couple weeks ago you mentioned that you kind of enjoyed the reading assignments I gave you over the summer?”

Monte looked down and huffed. I think maybe he was embarrassed to admit he liked the books I gave him. “Well, that was part of a bargain. You somehow managed to get me to spend a day with one of my rap idols down in Virginia Beach and that was the tradeoff.”

“Yeah, yeah, but you DID say you enjoyed the reading,” I said. I poked the right button and my printer lurched into action, slowly grinding out pieces of paper. “And you did say winter was kind of boring.”

Monte nodded, dropping into my visitor’s chair. “Uh huh. You right. I just don’t feel like poking around in the library like an idiot. How am I supposed to know what’s good?”

“Got you covered, little G,” I said, getting up and pulling the pages from the printer. “See I was thinking about you. I reached out to a couple friends who have kids around your age, and one who’s a librarian in Baltimore. They sent along a list of likely suspects. You can check through them to see what you might like to spend some time with.”

I handed Monte the list and he whistled. Then he tightened his ball cap on his head by the bill hanging over his left shoulder and looked more closely.

“H, there’s got to be fifty books here!”

“Actually, only about half that,” I said. “I wanted you to have some stuff to choose from. You probably won’t like them all.”

“Wait a minute,” he said, drawing the words out the way he did when he thought he was being hustled. “The Great Gatsby? A Raisin in the Sun? These are movies my grandma watches. The Raisin thing has Sydney Poitier.”

“When we talked about Huckleberry Finn before I thought it made sense to put a few classics on the list. Gatsby is a nice, short, simple book about a self-made millionaire and how he deals with suddenly having money. Sort of a jazz-age rapper, only he’s white. Raisin in the Sun, on the other hand, is all about a struggling African-American family and how they deal with poverty and racism while they’re trying to get to a better life. It’s people you can relate to, little bro.”

Monte was clearly interested now. “I heard of this one too, ’Fahrenheit 451. Isn’t that science fiction?”

I smiled, looking back on some nice childhood memories. “Well, yeah, Ray Bradbury’s a sci-fi writer, but this book isn’t about space ships or aliens. It’s a scary view of the future, where firemen don't put out fires--they start them to burn books.”

“That’s wack,” Monte said with a smile. “Might be a cool story, though. And this title - Giovanni's Room. Is that like Da Vinci’s code?”

“Oh, wow, that’s an interesting leap,” I said. “Actually, James Baldwin wrote about a guy who couldn’t decide if he was in love with his girl friend or another guy.” And this was in the 50s when people didn’t talk about stuff like that.”

“Sounds kind of heavy. And old.”

“Well, they’re not all set in the past,” I said quickly. “Look at Bronx Masquerade. In that one, a teacher is holding open mike night in his class and the kids doing poetry are sort of working through their own identity confusion with their rhymes.”

Monte kept scanning, and I watched his face shift from smile to frown and back as he hit titles that he recognized and some that were strange to him. Then his eyebrows went up.

“Your experts recommended these? A Series of Unfortunate Events? The Bionicle Chronicles?”

“Well, if you’re like me you might like getting caught up in a series. I’m told there are 13 of that first series, written by a dude with a weird name...”

“Yeah,” Monte tossed in. “Lemony Snickett!”
“Uh huh, and I hear they’re the thing for people who just can’t get enough of a bad thing. The Bionicle Chronicles look like they’re all action, about six warriors out to save the world from evil.”

I headed to the kitchen for a couple of root beers. When I got back with the bottles Monte was still smiling. I think I got his attention, and maybe he was happy that I took the time and trouble to make up the list instead of just telling him to go find a book to read. I got to tell you, getting a 13 year old to stick his head in a book is as rewarding as catching a murderer.

“You know, Grandma will be real proud if she sees me reading all the time,” Monte said. “And it IS too cold to be on the court all the time. But I don’t have any friends who are into books like this. I’d get into it more if I had somebody to talk about them with.”

With Monte, everything was about the negotiation. He had to feel like he was winning something. In this case, I was happy to play into it.

“Tell you what, little G. You tell me what you’re reading and I’ll read every one at the same time. Then you can talk them over with me. Deal?”

We smacked our fists together like he’d taught me and I grabbed my jacket. I needed to make a run to the library while the idea was still hot.

Here’s MONTE’S reading list:

The Classics
A Raisin in the Sun Lorraine Hansberry
The Great Gatsby F. Scott Fitzgerald
Black Boy Richard Wright
Fahrenheit 451 Ray Bradbury
Giovanni's Room James Baldwin

Might Make You Think
Bang Sharon Flake
Chocolate War Robert Cormier
Bronx Masquerade Nikki Grimes
First Part Last Angela Johnson
Forged by Fire Sharon Draper
Hoops Walter Dean Myers
Monster Walter Dean Myers
Scorpions Walter Dean Myers
Slam Walter Dean Myers
Outsider S.E. Hinson
Rite of Passage Richard Wright
Where Do I Go From Here? Valerie Wilson

Just for Fun
A Series of Unfortunate Events (series) Lemony Snickett
The Serpent's Spell Rae Bridgman
Freak the Mighty Rodman Philbrick

SPECIAL THANKS TO YOLANDA COLEMAN AND ROCHELLE CAMPBELL AND THEIR WELL-READ KIDS FOR THEIR INPUT TO THE LIST.

AND EXTRA SPECIAL THANKS TO SHIRLEY E. JOHNSON, LIBRARIAN EXTRAORDIAIRE, AT THE ENOCH PRATT FREE LIBRARY IN BALTIMORE.