As I was helping set up the Christmas tree at our church and at our home last week, I could not help but to think of dear old Dad. Christmas was most definitely his favorite time of year.

Dad liked to do things BIG. And getting a Christmas tree was no exception. He liked BIG Christmas trees. And he liked getting a real tree. It wasn’t until later in life after my brother and I had long moved out of the house that he finally relented and bought an artificial tree. But while we were still home, a real, BIG tree was the only option.

The “den” in our house in Bay Minette was a rather large room where we spent 80-90% of our lives when at home. It was originally a carport that had been converted and added on to the end of the house. It’s where the TV was located…the recliners…the sofas. It’s where you could find dad’s insulator collection and mama’s bell collection over in one corner. It’s where we ate most meals. It’s where the Christmas tree was placed because it was the only room BIG enough to accommodate the tree.

We would take the wood-paneled station wagon to the local temporary Christmas tree “farm” where the hunt would begin. It really was an easy hunt. Just look for the tallest and widest tree there and that was the one. No matter how much Mom or my brother or I would protest that the tree was too big, Dad would not hear it. His motto would have been “go big or go home.”

Back in the day, the place where we got the tree would “flock” it for an additional price. To get a flocked tree meant they would spray a white substance that covered the entire tree. 1800flowers.com describes flocking as “to give it (the tree) that natural, snow-covered look by applying a white, powdery mixture to the branches.” And that’s exactly what it was. I have no idea what ingredients were in the white powdery mixture used to flock the tree and I’m scared to ask. But they would flock it and we would come back later after it dried. Looking back, it’s a little ironic that Dad wanted a real tree but then wanted it “painted” to look artificial. And yet, he LOVED it. (In later years, flocking was no longer in vogue and we would get a green tree.)

We would find someone with a pickup to help us get the tree home. In those years when we did not get it flocked, we would stuff if into the back of the station wagon with half of it hanging out the back. I was always scared it was going to fall out of the station wagon and kill the motorist behind us. That is, until we got the tree home and I realized it was almost impossible to get it out because the limbs were facing the wrong way. If you’ve ever done it, you know exactly what I’m talking about. (We would pull the tree into the station wagon by the trunk…easy to get in…very hard to get out.)

Invariably, the tree would be too big. It was too big for a tree stand. We had to make our own wooden stand and nail it into the bottom of the tree. Of course, that was after we sawed off part of the trunk because the tree was always too tall for that 12 foot ceiling in the den. On rare occasions, we would have to cut part of the top out of the tree but that was to be avoided at all costs.

We would completely rearrange the den. The recliners would have to be moved to the other part of the room. Sometimes the tree would easily take up one-third of the room. Those who visited and were observant would have noticed a couple of nails in the walls just below the ceiling with fishing line connecting the nails to the tree. That was to help hold the tree in place when it was so big that dad was worried that it might fall over (he knew this from experience, unfortunately).

But when all was said and done, Dad would have that pleasant look of accomplishment on his face. (I will not get into the horror stories of trying to get lights onto the tree.) It was also the mischievous look of knowing that he had gotten a tree that was way too big for the space but he loved it.

Have I mentioned that Dad liked to do things BIG? That included gift giving. As big as the tree was, it was never big enough to cover all the presents placed under and around it…presents that would be joyfully opened on Christmas morning. Dad liked to shop and he liked to buy things for other people. He loved seeing people open gifts. Of course, my brother and I were the major beneficiaries of this. Honestly, we got everything on our lists for Christmas. EVERYTHING. I’m sure some would have said we were spoiled and I guess we were. But that doesn’t take away from Christmas morning being a major event at the Strong household.

I can remember my mom opening yet another gift and exclaiming, “Charles, you shouldn’t have done so much. You spent too much money.” And yes, he really DID spend too much money.

You see, it wasn’t until I was in college and more aware of the family finances that I realized the tremendous financial sacrifice that Mom and Dad made to make sure that my brother and I had all those gifts on Christmas morning. Our family was not wealthy by any stretch but we never lacked for anything either. But there is no doubt in my mind that my parents were willing to do without something they might want in order to give to my brother and me things that we did not need.

And maybe that was their greatest gift to us. It wasn’t the BIG tree or all the BIG gifts on Christmas morning but it was their BIG hearts. It was the gift of their love–their devotion to us–even in their dying days. Both Mom and Dad would have done anything in order for my brother and me to feel loved and safe and secure. That did not end when we left home and were out on our own. As I said, my parents gave this gift to my brother and me until they took their last breaths.

Might we also remember to pass this gift along, especially during the Christmas season.