Charlie Brown Christmas Tree Syndrome

Last night, I realized that my daughter suffers from “Charlie Brown Christmas Tree Syndrome”. I recognized the symptoms, because I too, am afflicted. It runs in my family. My brother even waits to buy his tree until only the undesirable trees are left, ensuring that he gets a Charlie Brown Christmas Tree. Although there are many variations, behavior usually includes feeling an overwhelming urge to buy the most pathetic tree on the Christmas tree lot and saving it from the unfathomable fate of not being selected by a family to spend the holiday in their home.

I noticed symptoms of the disease as we entered the Christmas tree lot, and she went directly to the back, scanning the lonely Douglas Firs, since everyone else favored the Frasiers. She selected a tree that looked like something had eaten a large hole in one side of it, causing it to lean mostly to the left. I immediately fell in love with it too, knowing that the defective side would become familiar with our living room wall. My husband, who is not afflicted with this disease, approached us with a disapproving look. “Why are you back here when all the Frasiers are in the front?” he asked, puzzled. Then the shocked look appeared on his face, “THAT TREE?!” he practically screamed. I knew we were in for trouble.

After much compromising, we selected a perfect looking Frasier and headed to the wrapping station. My daughter, already in the car, was crying over the tree no one would choose. As I walked toward her, I noticed three other children, obviously afflicted, crying in their mothers’ arms. We all exchanged understanding looks.

Consoling my daughter, I spoke about how it’s okay to like something that is beautiful and perfect, and how I was sure someone else would take her selected tree home. Our dogs, last chance misfits rescued from the pound, crowded her as we arrived home, sensing her sadness. She went to her room, thinking about this new tree. Later, she appeared with a tag, the name DAVE printed on it, and she attached it to the tree. She announced that the tree’s name was now Dave and she had decided that she liked him. I thanked her for understanding and she went to bed.

This morning she ran to me, beaming with delight, announcing, “Mom, did you notice that Dave has a big brown spot on his back, if we didn’t choose him by accident, no one else would have bought him. Mom, I LOVE DAVE!!!!!” I smiled, trusting that all works out as it should, especially this time of the year.