The Most Wonderful Time of the Year
for better, or worse
Last night was the tree lighting at Rockefeller Center. I went often as a teenager, back when the crowds were sparse, street closings unnecessary, and the tree was lit at a more reasonable time, minutes before the six o’clock news broadcast began.
There were no Rockettes. It was before Mariah Carey became the self-ordained Queen of Christmas. A retired Olympic skater would perform a routine, carolers would sing, and we’d all be home in time for dinner.
On a few of those ocassions my mom tagged along, steaming cups of hot cocoa warming our hands and noses on those cold December early evenings. Those were the rare instances my mother went into the city. Like many folks that grew up in Brooklyn, going to “the city” was an outing akin to international travel.
Somewhere in my photo collection, I have a picture of my mom leaning against one of the poles at the 47-50th F train station. I suppose it was snapped while we were on our way back home from the tree lighting, taken with real film—a time long before the little black rectangles with built-in cameras that occupy so much of our time existed.
As I grew older, and my mom’s willingness to travel to the city waned, I still made the pilgrimage to see the tree. At one point, I worked about 10 blocks away at the Essex House, and had the great fortune to walk by the tree almost daily by simply getting off the train one stop sooner. It was well worth the few extra minutes of my morning.
Even as an adult, the first in-person sight of the tree makes me tear up. It sounds silly to admit, but the tree evokes hope and wonder—two things we can use more of this world. Every year we’d call each other moments before the tree was lit so we could “watch” it together.
And each year, on my first visit to the tree, I’d call my mom and say “I’m standing under our tree”. We’d inevitably cry on the phone together. Back then, a smile and some kind chit chat would even get the security guard to give you a fallen branch as a keepsake. She no longer came to the tree so I would bring a little bit of it to her.
Times change. Policies change. People change.
Every. Thing. Changes.
Last night I went to visit my mom in the nursing home where she lives out in Bensonhurst. My plan was to watch the tree lighting show together, even if we wouldn’t make it to see the actual lighting which now takes place a few minutes before 10pm.