Putting the star on top of the Christmas tree is the greatest honor in yuletide decorating. Oh sure the lights are important, but there are a million lights. They’re a dime a dozen. And ornaments? Don’t even get me started. Who’s going to notice where you hang one of dozens of ornaments on your festive evergreen?
But the star? C’mon, that’s the top dog. The big cheese. The head honcho. There’s only one tree topper, and only one person can put it in place. That person pretty much dominates the entire hall decking operation.
At least that’s how my daughters saw it when they were little. That’s why we had to establish an orderly system for them to take turns each year as the designated star hanger. My wife even went so far as to put a note in the box with our Christmas star to remind us who had the distinction of hanging the star the previous year. That way there would be no dispute as to who was up to bat this holiday season.
You know you’re getting old when your young friends ridicule your low-tech lifestyle. Yesterday, I took a road trip to Nashville with three guys from my church. All of them are younger than me. All of them have iPhones. I, on the other hand, have an old-fashioned, non-internet surfing, beat up cell phone that I think was a prototype used by Bill Gates when he started Microsoft in his garage a couple of decades ago.
I don’t have a GPS either. I don’t like GPS’s because I don’t trust them. I once had a GPS route me through one of the worst neighborhoods in Atlanta simply because computers have no common sense. The shortest distance between two points is not through gangland crossfire.
I’m not sure what my daughters have against me, but I’m convinced they’re trying to drive me crazy. Take the other day, for instance. They know how I feel about the Milton-Bradley game called Perfection. They know how competitive I am. They know that I let them play with it for about five minutes last Christmas before commandeering it so that I could master it myself. They know all this, yet they couldn’t resist messing with my head.