Real vs. Fake

There are two kinds of people.  Those who buy real Christmas trees and those who buy fake ones.  I suppose you could say that there is a third kind, those who don’t buy any Christmas trees at all.  But for the purposes of this story, we will not include them.

So, real vs fake Christmas trees. There is no middle ground here.  Talk about your divisive issues.  Maybe not to the level of gun control, abortion, or same-sex marriage.  But close.

Those who fall in the real Christmas tree camp extol the virtues of real tree-ship and smugly see themselves on some sort of moral high ground vs those in the fake tree camp. 

“It’s a real tree. A fake tree is…well…fake,” they say.

“I am all about authenticity.  Nothing says authentic like a real tree. And there’s nothing like the scent of pine it brings to your house. It’s a living thing, purifying the air of your house with its carbon absorbing, oxygen expelling presence,” they lecture on.

I know this because all of my life I have been a real Christmas tree person.  Until this year.  But put a pin in that for a minute.

The fake tree believers look askance at the real tree people as some sort of religious cult-like sect.  They roll their eyes in disbelief at their fanaticism.  Fake tree-ers pride themselves on their rationality, logic, and smart, economical sense. 

“Look at how much money we save over the long term, “ they pontificate. 

“It’s so easy. No untangling lights. No stringing lights.  No watering.  No needles falling. Better for the environment. Why would anyone want a real tree?”, they say from their own moral high ground.

Now, as noted above, I have ALWAYS been a real tree-er.  No fake tree, let alone the discussion of a fake tree, ever made its way into the Morroney household when I was growing up.  Picking out your tree when you were a child while fun and magical, was serious business too.  You had to look at a lot of trees to make sure you were getting the best one.  No bald spots. Fresh needles.  Straight trunk.  Not too fat. Not too skinny.  A good branch at the top for the Angel to perch on.

Naturally, being raised as a real tree-er, like being raised a Catholic, sticks with you.  You carry that right into adulthood. 

So when I got married and Ernie and I got our first tree together, it was real. Ernie had been raised a real tree-er too.  And a Catholic.  We had a lot in common.

And as our family of just the two of us grew to be the four of us, we raised our kids in the real tree religion.  And the Catholic religion too.  In their case though, real tree-ism took, but Catholicism didn’t.  I think they made the right choice there actually.  But I digress.

We’ve had all these years steeped in real trees.  Our kids grew up and moved out.  We became Empty Nesters.  We remained real tree acolytes.  No one ever raised the question or thought of getting a fake tree.  That heresy was left unsaid.  Until one day, a couple of years ago as we were getting ready to go get our Douglas Fir, Ernie said the words I thought I’d never hear. 

“Why don’t we get a fake tree this year?”

“Get behind thee Satan!”, I thought to myself. 

Out loud I said, “What did you just say? You are kidding, right?” with a look of incredulity on my face.

“No, I am not kidding,” he said. 

“You heard me.  I’d like to try a fake tree this year.  Real trees are getting so expensive.  And it’s such a hassle of having to get the tree and put it up and take it down.”

“Well, let me be clear,” I said.

“I will never have a fake tree.  I am not a fake tree person.  I hate fake trees.  I mean, why even bother?  Get a fake tree, and what next? You are on a slippery slope to all kinds of evil.  I will do everything with the tree, if you think it’s too much work.  But I will not have a fake tree,” I declared in my most righteous voice possible.

As you can imagine, that conversation did not go over well.  It led to the Great Christmas Tree Fight of 2022.  Phrases like, “Well, who says you get to decide?”  and “I should be able to have a say” were hurled about.  The statement of, “Fine, get your fake tree, but I am still getting a real tree,” may have been uttered.

Seemingly at an impasse, we took a breath and remembered some things we learned in couples counseling.  (You think you make it 37 years married without a little couples counseling along the way?)

“Ok,” I said, realizing that our marriage was more important than a Christmas tree. 

“What if we compromise?”, I suggested.  “How about if we alternate every other year? One year we get a real tree, and the next year we get a fake one, and so on.”

I thought, all things considered, though I really didn’t want a fake tree at all, that this was the best solution.  Fortunately, Ernie agreed.  Nice to see the couples counseling paying off.

Ernie, being Ernie, ie, a super saver and deal finder par excellence, wanted to wait until after Christmas to buy the fake tree.  He knew they’d be discounted post-holiday.

That brings us to Christmas 2023.  Ernie reminded me with glee that this is the year for the fake tree.  I had gone into a bit of denial and kind of forgot that he had even bought it.

I tried to muster all the strength I could to overcome my feelings of abhorrence at this great sin I was about to commit.  I smiled at him wanly, and said,

“Yup.”  That was it.  I couldn’t muster more than that.

Ernie brought in the tree from the shed where he had stored it.  He unboxed it.  It was in three pieces.  It was pre-strung with lights.

Bing-bang-boom, he’s got the tree together.

“Huh,” I thought to myself.  “That was easy.” 

This was followed by, “This tree looks pretty nice.  And it’s really nice to not have to untangle the lights, hoping they all light up, and then string them onto the tree.”

Then I noticed that the cord for the lights has a button you can step on to turn them on and off.  “Well, that is really convenient,” I thought.

As I was putting the ornaments on, I marveled at the ease with which they hung.  No issues trying to find the strong branches for the heavier ornaments.  No issues with branches sagging when you put the ornaments on.  The plastic branches hold all the ornaments really well and retain their shape because, well, because they are plastic.

I stepped back to look at the fake tree now fully adorned with ornaments and the Angel perched perfectly atop it.  The lights aglow.  It looked….beautiful!

“Wow,” I said to Ernie. “I have to say, this fake tree looks pretty good.  And it was all so easy.  And I won’t have to worry about keeping it watered.  I won’t have to vacuum up the needles that drop daily. If you don’t get up too close to it, you’d almost think it was real.  Except I miss the pine scent of a real tree.  But I can just get a pine-scented candle.”

And just like that, my conversion from real tree-er to fake tree-er was complete.  And like most religious conversions, once complete, there’s no going back.  I am firmly in the fake tree camp now.

Which meant that The Great Christmas Tree Compromise of 2022 was tossed out, like last year’s dead real Christmas tree. 

What’s next? Christmas dinner at a Chinese restaurant?