This is the 15th of my “Advent Calendar” Christmas ornament posts. For some background information about this project and why I’m challenging myself to complete it, see here. Note: it’s entirely possible some of these memories are inexact, but I’m sticking with them anyway.
Every year, after the lights are lit and all the ornaments are on the tree, my husband and I stop a moment and argue. We have vastly different opinions on the correct item to place at the top of the tree, and this ideological rift follows us from Christmas to Christmas.
He’s from an angel family. I grew up with stars. Well, with something like this, if you can call it a star:
Now that I think about it, it’s possible that we sometimes had an angel on the tree when I was a kid. Could my parents have had this same argument, year after year? Have I dragged this feud into the next generation? I’ll have to ask them.
As for our home, things haven’t devolved into uncivilized and violent Coke vs. Pepsi territory yet, but each of us is clearly disappointed if the “wrong” thing is at the top of the tree. I’m not sure how to best move past our differences. We alternate years, for now. I’m careful to take a picture of the tree each year as evidence so we know whose turn is next – gotta keep it fair.
Last year, I thought I hit on the perfect solution. I found a Yoda tree topper. With LED glowing lightsaber. Not a star, not an angel, but something we could both enjoy. A tradition we could hand down to our future children, a way to make the annual debate a distant memory of an unenlightened time. Unfortunately, when I took Yoda out of the box, his lightsaber was broken in half.
A sign. A Jedi uses the Force for knowledge and defense, never for attack. Was treetop Yoda my passive-aggressive way to win and get rid of angels for good? I hung my head. I put him back into the box. I returned him to the store.
For now, compromise, we must.