Christmas tree, O Christmas tree: Part 19

 One of the first

This is one of the first ornaments we purchased when we started putting up a Christmas tree many years ago.

It is part of a box of simple silver balls we got at Pier 1 or Target or some damned place I’ve long ago forgotten.

When they were new, I would distribute the bright and shiny balls evenly throughout the tree, positioning them so they would gleam in the reflected glow of the mini-lights that surrounded them. They always gave the tree an elegant, dignified look.

Over the years, we’ve lost several to accident and old age. The survivors, like this one, now look drab and shabby, their silver metallic paint worn off and tarnished. As newer and more elaborate decorations have been added to our collection, these stalwart reminders of Christmases past have moved farther and farther out of sight.

Today, they mostly populate the back branches of The Beast, no longer front and center but still performing a useful purpose in providing balance and perspective. Hmm, that’s an observation that (ahem) a recent retiree might want to consider.

Someday, I suppose I’ll have to get rid of them for good. But I’m not ready to give them up just yet. I’m a sentimental fool, and I associate these silver orbs with the days when my kids would ooh and aah when we finished decorating the tree and the glee with which they descended on it on Christmas morning to glory in Santa’s bounty.

In a way, I guess I identify our silver ornaments with the tale of “The Velveteen Rabbit.” It’s about a stuffed rabbit who becomes a young boy’s favorite toy and grows tattered and worn in the process. Eventually cast aside, it magically becomes real through the boy’s love and happily joins real rabbits in the forest.

It’s a lovely story, sad and sweet and spirit-boosting. Published in 1922, it was authored by Margery Williams and is considered one of the best children’s books ever written. Once upon a time, “The Velveteen Rabbit” was particularly popular at Christmas. After all, it is the story of a child’s toy.

These days, it’s considered too old-fashioned, too cloying, too mawkish. Too bad. I remember loving it and confess I shed a tear or two the first time I read it, although I hid that shameful fact from everyone.

Our silver ornaments are like the velveteen rabbit. They’ve been loved almost to the point of their own destruction. Inevitably, the day will come when I finally must consign them to the realm of our memories.

But that won’t be this year. And it probably won’t be next year, either. Even when that sad day arrives, I’ll still hang one or two as keepsakes and as reminders of those early family Christmases when they were new, shiny and bright.