news-record.com

Charles Davenport Jr. and I don't see eye-to-eye on much. But when it comes to being a sucker for holiday traditions ("Christmas memories" Sunday op-ed), I have to admit it: I've got the brother's back.

According to the unofficial 2008 holiday decorations census, there are seven Christmas trees in the Johnson abode. As of today. I may see one I like tonight and find a vacant corner for it ... somewhere.

My collection includes real trees and not-so-real trees, big ones and teeny ones, indoors and out. Even the dog has her own tree and lighted wreath.

I blame this obsession on my parents, who made Christmas so magical for me and my two siblings during our childhood that we simply won't let it go. I can still smell the aroma of a freshly cut Fraser fir in our living room, festooned with fat red, green and blue lights and silver tinsel.

A few years later came a platinum-glazed aluminum tree (think Reynolds Wrap with branches) that my dad assembled like a Tinker Toy set. It came with a rotating electrical "color wheel" that shone rotating hues onto the shiny metallic needles, over and over.

I'd like to say that we greeted such crass artificiality by pining for the genuine article, but we absolutely loved that tacky thing, tin-foil needles and all.

That said, today's counterfeit versions (most of them manufactured in Santa's workshop in China) comprise all but one tree in my holiday forest. After all, the 21st century variety doesn't flaunt its artificiality quite as blatantly as a late-'60s heavy metal tree and actually looks authentic from a distance.

But I'll still slip now and then onto the back porch, where the lone real tree stands in the chilly night air, and take a long, deep breath of pine-scented memories.

-- Allen Johnson