The Christmas trees were breathtaking. No
two were alike: exquisite Victorian ribbon
and golden lights; clever handmade animals;
starfish; silk roses. Local organizations
had decorated Christmas trees for a Parade of
Trees, and passersby voted for their favorite
one by putting a contribution in a box.
Then my eyes fell on the next to last tree. A
big plastic school bus perched on top in place
of a star; unsharpened pencils dangled from the
branches; the tree was covered with huge, square,
rumpled snowflakes, which from a distance gave the
appearance of being simply sheets of paper.
"Those are the ugliest snowflakes I have ever seen!"
I blurted to my family.
In a small voice, my seven-year-old son Andy
spoke up. "Our class made them."
Immediately I wished my words back! I stumbled
all over myself trying to remedy what I had done,
but Andy simply led me to the tree and found his
snowflake. Suddenly, I saw the snowflakes through
different eyes. Little second-grade hands, still
learning to use scissors; eager hearts, so
happy to participate. I cast my vote for the
"snowflake tree."
After the tree was taken down, Andy brought his
snowflake home and gave it to me. I hung it in
my office - a visible reminder to think before
I speak and to look for hidden beauty.
