Marshall Ramsey

Forty-five, balding and pudgy around the middle, Joe’s idea of daily exercise was getting out of his office chair and going to eat.  He burped and rubbed his big belly as he bellowed,  “Is it lunchtime yet?”

A 24-year-old MBA graduate walked past his office and just rolled her eyes.  To her, Joe was old. Washed up. And a waste of a perfectly good office.

Joe had a good life. A stable life. A life exactly opposite of what he had planned.  “I should have been a football star,” he told the stranger at the bar that night. Doing his best Brando impersonation, he said,” I could have been a contender.” He looked up at his office clock.

“It’s five o’clock somewhere!”

Later that evening Joe sat in his favorite bar.  He loved to come down and people watch. His wife hated it, of course, but it was only one of many things his wife hated. And he was pretty sure he was close to the top of her list.  He snuffed out his cigarette and looked at his phone. 10:00 p.m. Sure, it was time to go home.  But he was glued to the bar stool.  Thursday night football was on the bar’s flat-screen TV.  “KILL HIM!” Joe released a primal scream as the Green Bay Packers chased Eli Manning out of the pocket.

Twenty-seven years ago, Joe had been in the pocket himself. He was the starting quarterback for his high school football team, the Spartenburg Yellow Jackets.  But instead of pursuing his football dreams, Joe took an academic scholarship to the big state school.  The rest, as they say, is history.  Or misery. It just depended on the day.

Joe graduated with a degree in accounting and then earned his MBA. He rose high into the middle-management ranks.  He and his wife Amber had 2.5 children (three, actually) and now Joe was stuck in a rut.  Some would call it a midlife crisis. Joe called it life sucking.  He took another sip of his third beer and thought of Chuck.  He always thought of Chuck when he watched football. He missed his best friend so very much.

“You wanna know something? I wish I could play just one more time,” Joe blurted out.

The bartender, a wise man, nodded agreeably.  “Don’t we all.  Don’t we all.”

Joe didn’t see it, but the bartender waved his hand and said something that only an ancient Mayan would have understood.

The disgruntled insurance accountant dumped a few dollar bills onto the counter.  “Keep the change.”

The bartender smiled.  Change. That was one way to put what Joe was about to experience.

Joe walked out of the smoke-filled bar and into the cool, crisp night air. Fog damply hovered around the street lights, battling every ray of light to the death.  A breeze blew, masking the sound of the footfalls behind him.

A shadow crossed his path like a particularly evil black cat.  Joe never saw the mugger sneak up behind him but felt a flash of pain as the gun’s stock cracked his skull.  All 230 lbs. of Joe immediately hit the ground. Hard.

“Wake up, Joey. Wake up!”

With the pungent smell of smelling salts wafting up his nose, Joe groggily opened his eyes. What he saw jolted him like he had jumper cables attached to his nipples.

“Joey.  Can  you hear me Joey?

His high school coach and trainer were standing above him. He felt around and felt damp Bermuda grass in between his fingers.  Blurry lights came into focus and he realized where he was…

On his old high school football field 27 years ago.

He hopped instantly to his feet as the crowd roared.  The coach and the trainer escorted him to the sideline, “That was one hell of a hit you took there, son. You really got your bell rung. But you’re gonna have to rub some dirt on it.”

Joe soaked in the sights and the sounds around him. He heard his high school fight song being mauled by the band.  He looked around and saw the cheerleaders — young, thin and not as wrinkled as he last saw them — dancing happily on the track.  He looked at the scoreboard and gasped for air.  He was at THE game. The last game. He turned quickly and saw both his parents sitting in their reserved seats. They were alive!

Joe felt his eyes water immediately.

“Joey, get back in there!” the coach bellowed.

Joe grabbed his helmet and ran back out on the field.  When he entered the huddle, he saw all his old teammates and began to address them one by one:

“Matt, you might want to avoid Sandy.  You’re not going to like getting married at 18. Trust me.”

“Bill, there will be this new drug called Rogaine. Invest in it.”

“Jimmy, lay off the Ho Hos. Oh, that’s right, Ho Hos will go out of business.  But not because you didn’t try to eat them all.”

Matt looked at his quarterback and said, “You OK, Joey?  Did that hit screw with your head?”

Joe smiled.  At least until he saw the last player run onto the field.

It was Chuck.

Chuck Patterson was his go-to wide receiver and best friend.  In this game, on the very next play, Joe would throw Chuck a 54-yard pass and Chuck would make the most unbelievable catch in Yellow Jacket football history. A scout, who was in the stands to see Joe, would immediately offer Chuck a scholarship to the big State school.  And while driving to the big State school, Chuck would die in a fiery car crash.

Joe’s eyes burned like Chuck’s Camaro.

“What’s the matter with you sissy boy?” Chuck taunted his friend. “It’s time to win this game. You and me, remember?”

Joe called the play and broke huddle. They lined up in formation and Chuck sprinted down the field.

Joe settled in the pocket and cocked his arm back.  And just like he did the first time, he let it fly…

In the wrong direction.

The last thing Joe remembered was getting hit from behind by the other team’s Defensive end. He felt his head impact the hard turf and then the world went black.

“Wake up, sissy.”

Joe opened his eyes groggily.  He looked around and was apparently in the hospital. His doctor’s voice said again, “You took a pretty hard lick. Haven’t seen anything quite like it since you got mauled in our last game.”

Joe’s eyes flew open wide and standing before him was Chuck, in a lab coat and holding an iPad.

“You’re a—alive….”

Chuck smiled, “Darn right I’m alive. And you’re lucky you’re alive, too.  Your bride has been worried about you.”

“Amber?” Joe said weakly.

Yes, Amber. She sure does care about you, you know it? I don’t know why. She should have married me. ”  Chuck laughed.

“You’re a doctor?”

“Yes, thanks to you.  If not for that crazy-*ss bad pass you threw, I wouldn’t have gone to medical school.   I owe you on that one, slick. Now, get some rest.  Doctor’s orders. Your company needs its CEO back.”

Joe stared at this best friend for as long as his eyes would stay open.  And as he faded off to sleep, he dreamed of the best worst pass he had ever thrown in his life.

“Steve, please get the Christmas decorations out of the attic. Now.”

The response from the recliner in the other room was very unChristmas-like.

“Bah humbug,” a man’s voice growled.

It was the annual battle of their marriage.  Judy Gibson loved decorating for Christmas. Her husband loved watching football.

“Why are we putting up a tree anyway? The kids are gone. They live out of state.  We’re flying out to see them this year.”  Steve knew the answer, but picked at his wife anyway.

Judy quietly shook her head.  Married to Steve for nearly 40 years, she closed her eyes and remembered their wedding. The base chapel had been decorated for Advent.  She could still smell the fresh-cut cedar branches and see the burning candles.  And there was Steve, standing proudly at the alter in his Naval uniform, weighing maybe 160 lbs.   Steve was like a tree now; you could cut him in half and count forty rings from where he had put on weight over the years. Judy remembered their honeymoon at Biltmore House in Asheville. The Vanderbilt’s mansion was so beautifully decorated for the holidays. Being a young girl from Mississippi, she had never seen a house that big.  Something about the mountains, the trees and the Christmas ornaments touched her heart. When she saw the banquet room and its big tree, she vowed they would always have a great tree, too.

Father Noel’s Tree Farm had provided their one.  Steve struggled to strap it to the top of their Chevrolet Impala wagon.  She remembered it looking like a walking tree as he hauled it into their one-bedroom base apartment.  They were so poor that the only ornaments they owned  were ribbon ornaments made from a red and white checkered table cloth.  Hot lights and reflectors illuminated the dry tree. It was a miracle they didn’t burn base housing down.

It was 1972.  And since there was little Peace on Earth and goodwill to men, Steve had been overseas for most of the year.  That fall, he brought back ornaments from all his ports of call.  And then they took a trip to Hawaii. That December, their new tree had five new ornaments joining the ribbons.  Her favorite was the palm tree with the lady with the ukelele. She could almost hear Don Ho singing “Tiny Bubbles” when she saw it at the tacky little souvenir shop.

The next Christmas Steve and Judy had a new member of the family.  Frances May Gibson was born nine months after their trip to Hawaii and the new tree had a new ornament as well. It was a wooden stork with the time, date and weight of the new baby.  The next two trees found two more storks joining Frances May’s.  Steve Jr. and Albert Frances were now part of  the young family.

Steve was promoted to a command position on the U.S.S. Enterprise and soon a small aircraft carrier ornament joined the storks and the ribbons.  Judy diligently saved up Green Stamps and got a set of beautiful gold glass ball ornaments. Those were bought when they lived in Norfolk, Virginia.  There was a Norfolk ornament, too.  Every town they lived in would have its own ornament. Like in their heart, it would have a special place in their tree.

The next year, Frances May came home with a special ornament made in preschool.  It was made from a margarine lid, red construction paper and a photo of her ponytailed, tooth-missing freckled face.  Each kid would come home with similar ornaments over the years. And each would have its own place on the tree.

The next summer found the Gibsons headed to Disney World.  Most folks would have pitied the couple hauling the three kids around the Magic Kingdom. But Judy and Steve were having as much fun as the kids.  Judy saved up her spare change and bought a beautiful globe with Cinderella’s castle on it.  Mickey himself would have been proud of the place of honor given to the ornament.

In the mid-1980’s Steve came home from a cruise with a big box.  “I saw this and had to get it for you.”  Judy unwrapped the golden paper and saw the most beautiful angel she had ever seen. “I thought she looked like you,” Steve grinned. He climbed up the stepladder and proudly placed it on the top of the tree.

Steve and Judy had a little cat named Nixon when they were married.  Nixon had his ornament.  Nixon was soon joined by a terrier-mix named Snowflake.  She had her own ornament, too. Nixon tragically was hit by a Captain’s car on a rainy November night.  Snowflake died of old age and soon a small puppy named Lady Bird joined the family. The pets were well represented with ornaments. So were all the trips Steve and Judy took around the world. Barcelona, Paris, New York, Washington D.C., London all hung on their family. Steve liked the little Eiffel Tower the best.   It reminded him of holding hands with Judy during strolls down the busy Paris streets.

Tragedy struck the family in 1992.   Albert, their youngest, died in a car accident on the way to The University of Maryland.  Judy’s hand shook uncontrollably as she hung his ornaments on the tree the following Christmas. Steve had not wanted to put up the tree. He felt that they should cancel Christmas and take the family as far away from their home as possible. But Judy insisted the tree be put up.  Seeing the ornaments hang on the conifer’s branches healed her battered heart.  She stretched out on the floor every night, staring at the tree and cried.

Soon there were ornaments with college mascots, wedding photos and birth announcements. Grandchildren’s favorite toys hung from the branches.  The joy of the early 1970’s returned as the little kids stared in awe at the giant tree covered with ornaments.  Judy loved the tell the kids the stories behind every single one of them.

In 2005, Steve retired as a Rear Admiral.  A single star hung from a branch signifying his distinguished naval career.  Judy survived a bout with breast cancer earlier that year and a pink ribbon was placed on the tree.  They continued to travel.  Ornaments from towns from far across the nation soon joined the tree. They were where their children now lived. The tree and the memories it represented filled the empty nest.

“Steve, get up in the attic and get the boxes down. It’s time to decorate the tree.”

Grumbling preceded the retired Admiral as he faked protest.  He knew the importance of this day.

First the lights went up. Then the beads. Christmas music from every year of their marriage played on the iPad. Then came the red ribbons. The sacred red ribbons. They always were the first to go on. Each box held ornaments from an event, place or person. She and Steve put up Albert’s ornaments. Her hand shook slightly as she looked as her lost son’s handsome face. Copious tears ran down her cheeks.  How she missed the boy.

Then, branch by branch, the ornaments filled up the giant Scotch Pine.

Their Christmas was a scrapbook of their life together. Branches were chapters and ornaments were pages. Each represented a special time or place.

Steve and Judy held hands and admired their work when they finished. To them, it was more than just a Christmas tree. It represented their amazing life together.

It was their family tree.