The house was filled with the spirit of Christmas and tantalizing holiday fragrances as Dad struggled to maneuver the nine-foot fir tree through the door. Mom was grabbing branches in an effort to protect them while peering through them making sure the kids were out of harms way.  The ritual had been the same for many years but this tree trimming party was going to be different.

The rest of the house was already profusely decorated for the season. There were plush red velvet bows hanging from the mantle which was banked with lush green magnolia leaves with pyracantha berries interspersed through out in anticipation of the stockings that would hang there. Candles were in the front windows and a welcoming wreath had been hung on the door. The tree was the last major decorating project.

The older of the two was Cindy and at eleven she was trying to remain aloof to the excitement. She really felt she was too old for all this holiday make-believe. Oh, she still enjoyed Christmas; she just didn't get quite as excited as she used to.

On the other hand, her brother Frank was only four and a half and he had enough excitement in him for at least two children. It was a major task to keep him from getting lost in the branches, as the tree was finally set upright in the stand.  Every year it was the same. Dad would give a mighty heave to set the tree straight and a scratch could be heard as the tip of the tree traveled across the ceiling leaving a telltale mark of tar. The marks were numerous now because no one wanted their memory painted over.

For years Mom had wanted to decorate the house using the tiny white lights that had become so popular in their neighborhood. Likewise, for years the kids had insisted on using the tiny multi-colored twinkle lights.  There were hundreds of them carefully rolled up and stored in a box. Dad was always the one to put the lights on the tree each year and he was also the one to remove them. Mom would carefully unwrap each ornament and give it to the kids to hang in its own special place on the tree.

Of course, Frank could hardly wait to begin hanging his ornaments.  At least once every five minutes he wanted to know when he could hang his first ornament. Finally, in a voice that was stern enough to be listened to, Mom had finally told him to have a seat and watch Dad. He would be told when it was time to hang ornaments.

Poor Frank. With a downtrodden face he slumped into a chair and remained very quite.  In fact, he was much too quite. Everyone was so caught up in the festivities it was presumed that he was simply pouting.

After satisfying himself that the tree was seated firmly into the tree stand and that it was standing straight he told Mom to get him the lights.  Instead of going to the box that held the multi-colored lights, she opened a new box of lights and Dad began to string them on the tree. 

In order to know where to place the bulbs, the string was plugged in. Everyone was amazed to see that the lights beamed a brilliant white. There was no color to them at all. There was an obvious look of disappointment on Dad's face as he meticulously attached each light. Cindy had long since lost interest and was on the phone with one of her friends. Frank just sat in his chair and stared in disbelief. 

Mom seemed to be the only one who was delighted with the color change on the tree. The more lights went on the more she babbled about how everyone would be able to see all the pretty ornaments this year.

Finally, Dad was placing the last string of lights on the grass green tree. He stood back and commented that it looked like it was on fire because it was so bright. A sniff was heard coming from Frank's chair. Fearing that he was getting sick Mom looked at him and was shocked at what she saw.

Frank still sat very still and quiet just as he had been instructed. His sad eyes were staring at the Christmas tree with a look of total disbelief and pained disappointment. Tears were silently sliding down his cheeks.

The tree trimming came to an abrupt halt as everyone inquired why Frank was in tears. Finally he could hold back no longer and with a loud wail that was followed by a gush of tears he cried, "Santa won't come see me this year!"

Fearing the worst, both Mom and Dad tried to reassure him that Santa came to see all good little boys and girls. Frank took no comfort in that. He continued to bawl like a lost calf. Again Mom tried to offer comfort by telling him that Santa always came to see all four-year-olds. Frank bawled on.

Finally in exasperation, Dad asked Frank why Santa wouldn't come see him. Amid sniffs and snubs of tears Frank poured out his heart.

"Santa won't come see me cause he won't know that's my tree. He will take all my toys back to the North Pole cause he can't find me. He KNOWS my tree has colored lights on it. If he sees this tree he will think I'm not here and he won't stop and leave me anything!"

Without a word, Dad turned to the tree and began taking the white lights off the tree. Carefully he placed them back in their boxes. When the tree was again bare he opened the box that held the colored lights. Around and around the tree he worked until it was brightly aglow with hundreds of twinkling multi-colored lights.

Looking from the tree to Frank it was hard to say which was twinkling with more glee, the tree or Frank's eyes. Excitedly, he began to race back and forth from his mom, who gave him ornaments, to the tree where he hung every one of his favorites front and center.

Santa was coming to see Frank, that was certain, because there was no mistaking that his tree was lighting the way. 

A short story written for your enjoyment
by Rose Abrams