Desperation Three

The world looks different when you're a kid. That's what was nagging at me as I saw Christmas trees of all shapes and sizes this week. Each time I came across one of these fir trees, I would compare it with the mental image I had of the tree my parents would lug in the back of our old 4Runner back in California, and I would think to myself, Nope, not nearly as big as the ones we had. Or as full, for that matter. each time. Even the tree that I one day found plopped in the middle of the lobby of the dormitory, lights and all, paled in comparison with the trees from my childhood, now firmly entrenched in my memory as the benchmarks to which all trees will forever be compared.

And yet, to really satisfy all of these conditions, both the living room of our residence in Torrance, Calif., and our annual Christmas tree would have to be upwards of 14 feet high.

Not likely.

No, that's just how a Christmas tree looks when you're eight years old and you gaze upwards at the needles with all of their ornaments and lights. You're more concerned about the decorations that go on the bottom third of the tree, than the angel your mother places on the very top.