The Real Fake Christmas Tree

and my fake Christmas spirit.

1993

“Can we have a Christmas tree?”

I was ten years old, and we had just moved to the new house my parents had built from the ground up.

“Next year, I promise.” My mom tapped me on the shoulder.

When the house was about to start being built, we moved from the house that was built with discarded wood from my grandfather’s cabinet shop - sadly located in front of an open sewer - to my aunt’s in-laws’ house. They had temporarily moved back to Japan and needed someone to house and dog sit. Since the house was only an empty lot up from where our new house was being built, it was a win-win for all.

From the top of the K-9 dog house in the side yard of the borrowed house, I’d stand on my tip toes to see the men spread the gray cement paste on orange bricks, like butter on bread, and place them one by one until there were walls. After a year, we finally moved in, and in my head, it was the perfect time to have a Christmas tree. We had a beautiful house, sure, with parts unfinished, but it was ours. Most importantly, it was made out of bricks, and when we opened the door of the new house, we didn’t have to hold our breaths. There was no sewage scent in the air, and there was no need to keep any rat poison around the house.

I felt rich.

Religion

Although I went to a Catholic school, my family wasn’t Catholic. My grandmother was Buddhist, but she was way too busy living her best senior life at Japanese social clubs. Her priority was to cook the best dishes for potlucks, dance, sing karaoke, and not necessarily pass on spiritual traditions to her kids or grandkids.

As for my parents, their religion was called WORK.

The end of the year was the busiest season at my mom’s beauty salon. Usually, she’d be home by 6:30 pm, but as soon as the calendar page flipped to December, all nail techs and hairdressers were overbooked. Christmas Eve was the most insane day of the year for my mom, with clients in and out of the chair from 8 in the morning until 11 at night.

My father would take us to our aunt’s house around 7 pm. By the time my mom arrived, the table covered with Brazilian barbecue and Japanese rice and vegetables was already being packed in ice cream containers that served as Tupperware. We didn’t do games like Secret Santa, big gift exchanges, or toasts with feel-good speeches. There was plenty of food and desserts, and that’s what Christmas was all about for the Sugisawa family.

I don’t know when I discovered that Santa was not real, but having very practical, pragmatic, and busy parents, I believe it didn’t last more than a few years.

The Tree

The following year, my mom fulfilled her promise and got us a Christmas tree. However, she opted for a real potted tree. It was not what I had in mind, but I wasn’t complaining… well, until we hung the first ornament, a light red ball. The branches were so thin and flimsy. The tree actually looked like a bush. Maybe it was a bush because none of the branches were strong enough to hold the lightest ornament. The tree was sad, all bent down from the weight of the ornaments.

Right there, I realized. We don’t have the Christmas spirit. Who were we trying to trick with that real fake Christmas tree?

It was the first and the last Christmas tree we ever had.

RIP, real fake tree, or bush.

Fast Forward

It’s 2012. Mel is one and a half.

It was about time for Matt and I to decide our parenting style regarding how our little family would approach Christmas. He said he’d love to make it magical for Mel as it was for him. I was like, “Okay, Imma try my best. I will find, I will build my Christmas spirit brick by brick!” (think Superman pose here for this moment, hands on waist, puffed chest, gaze into the horizon…)

And, friends, I am glad to report that I did a fair job in the magical world.

I wrote letters in tiny calligraphy font for every tooth lost and signed as Milly, the red-hair tooth fairy. I took her to see Santa Claus wherever Santa Claus was. We even got an Elf on the Shelf. I bought a small green tree, then a medium white tree, then an 8ft green tree again with white sprinkles and twinkle lights that are already built-in - Yes, I got smarter.

I like to think that my approach to the magical things and our little human was honest. I told her that some kids didn’t believe in these things and that I was one of them. Whenever she got sad with the idea of the magical things not being true, I said, “If you believe, if you choose to believe, they can be true to you.”

For me, after doing Christmas for my own little family for about 12 years, I confess that I still struggle with the meaning of “Merry Christmas.” My Christmas spirit feels very fake and forced. I keep pushing because fake it until you make it, right?

In full transparency, I confess that I am a little jealous of families who have Christmas traditions. But not in a bad way. When I see your posts about baking cookies, ugly sweater parties, singing hymns (or Mariah Carey), the oh-so thoughtful gift making, or even the ferocious shopping and wrapping of boxes, I stand in the corner watching it all with a smile on my face, thinking “How beautiful!”

Thank you for sharing, for letting me be part of it, for letting me borrow your Christmas joy.

Here’s my friend Terry showing off his real, authentic, North American Christmas spirit.

Friend,

I am saying goodbye to 2023 with so many lessons learned. Allowing time to rest, tune in to my needs, and be present with my family has given me the peace and energy to move ahead to the next season.

Your support since I started on this platform has kept me grounded and elated at the same time.

Thank you, thank you.

With wishes of peace,