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Fatal Celebration
I’m not religious, but when you live in New Mexico and have a child, there’s an expectation that you’ll participate in holiday festivities. When I protested, my friends asked me to share how I spent Christmas as a child in Ohio. I had to admit it was lovely. I shared memories of our huge Christmas trees that filled our bay window, the thrill of sledding, and eating beautifully decorated sugar cookies that my mom and auntie made. Then, with new ammunition from my nostalgia — my friends convinced me that my two-year-old daughter, Jazmín, should not be robbed of cheerful Christmas memories.
Moments later, off we went to buy a Christmas tree. My daughter’s eyes glistened, and her brown ringlets bounced as she jumped up and down and pointed to a petite rotund spruce tree.
“That’s the one! It’s perfect!”
I tried not to let my worry show as the guys working the lot tied the tree to the roof of my new champagne-colored Toyota Camry. I had only made five payments on it, and I didn’t want them to scratch it. I also didn’t want my concern for a car to dampen the mood, which was buzzing from my daughter’s delight. I drove home and quickly propped the tree up in the hallway. We needed to get back downtown to find a spot to watch the electric light parade — another distinctively New Mexican tradition. We lived in Española, which you may not know is the low-rider capital of…
