To give her sons a great Christmas, Suzana, a single mother, saved money all year. But when their evil landlord took their treasured Christmas tree, the focal point of their holiday, she turned sorrow into a poignant lesson in karma and a mother’s unfailing love.
For my youngsters Jake and Ethan, Christmas is everything. Seeing their joy made the months I spent saving for the ideal tree this year worthwhile. However, such happiness was short-lived.
Even though it wasn’t late, our landlord, Mr. Bryant, arrived up on Christmas Eve to “remind” me about the rent. His gaze was fixed on our tree as he stood in the yard.
“That tree must be taken down,” he growled. “There is a risk of fire.”
For illustrative purposes only.
“What? “It is completely safe,” I objected.
Without giving me an opportunity to dispute more, he yelled, “The truck will pick it up in an hour.”
In an instant, he had our Christmas tree removed. Heartbroken, my children sobbed themselves to sleep that night. Until the following morning, I felt helpless.
I almost applied the brakes when I was passing Mr. Bryant’s house. My tree, adorned with handcrafted ornaments made by my children, was in his yard. “Merry Christmas from the Bryants!” was written on a sign he had added, along with a garish golden star.
My hands shook as I called Jessie, my best friend.
“He didn’t just steal a tree,” I choked out. “He stole my kids’ Christmas! Ethan’s snowflake, Jake’s rocket ship… they’re all there, Jess. He’s displaying my children’s memories like they’re his own!”
For illustrative purposes only.
“That entitled bit of—” Jessie gave a hiss. “Girl, I have not heard you so angry since fifth grade, when Jonathan took your lunch money.”
Jonathan only stole my money, at least. This is not the same. Our Christmas was stolen by Mr. Bryant.
“What happened to Jonathan?”
“We put glitter and shaving cream in his locker.” The recollection made me grin. “He needed weeks to remove everything from his jacket.”
“Exactly. So what’s the plan? Because you do have a plan. I hear it in your voice.”
“Maybe. How do you feel about a little midnight adventure?”
“Girl, I’ve been waiting all year to wear my black yoga pants for crime. What time should I come over?”
For illustrative purposes only.
At midnight, dressed in black hoodies and armed with more supplies than a craft store, we crept across Mr. Bryant’s perfectly manicured lawn.
As she gently took off each ornament, Jessie muttered, “These gloves make me feel like a cat thief.” “But I doubt unicorn prints are used by most robbers.”
“Like Santa’s retaliation squad!” My heart ached as I recognized each of the handcrafted ornaments my boys had made and placed them in a bag. “See, he even retained the pipe cleaner-made candy cane that Jake created.”
“What a jerk.” Jessie frowned. “Hey, what’s that noise?”
When a car went by, we froze, and when it went on down the street, we started laughing nervously.
And he added, ‘Remind me why we’re not just taking the tree and some of your boys’ ornaments?’ Wrestling with a particularly stubborn ornament, Jessie asked.
Otherwise we’d be thieves, just like him.” ‘We’re going to do something much better,’ where “‘we’” remains a question, but abundantly richer.”
Replacing Mr. Bryant’s gaudy additions was the only way we could work methodically, something special. Foot-wide letters in silver duct tape wound around the tree, flaunting the message: SUZANA, ETHAN & JAKE© PROPERTY!
“Wait!” A can of glitter spray was pulled by Jessie. “Let’s make it festive. Red or silver?”
“Both. It is Christmas, after all.”
The next morning I parked down the street with two coffees, and a clear view of Mr. Bryant’s house. At 8:His front door opened at 15 a.m.
The curses following would have made a sailor blush.
“Mr. Bryant, everything ok?” Nearby Mrs. Adams, her poodle in tow, yelled out. It’s where she lived for 30 years and she took no nonsense from anyone and certainly not Mr. Bryant.
“Someone vandalized my tree!” The glittering message made him wave his arms wildly. “The destruction of private property!”
Adams’s glasses readjusted, and she squinted at the tree. “Is that little Jake’s rocket ship ornament?” And Ethan’s paper snowflake?”
“What? No! This is my tree!”
Mine in giant, sparkly letters ‘Property of Suzana, Ethan & Jake’ then why?”“Stolen from a single mom on Christmas Eve is what’s outrageous.”le walking her poodle. She’d lived there for 30 years and took no nonsense from anyone, especially not Mr. Bryant.
“Someone vandalized my tree!” He gestured wildly at the glittering message. “This is destruction of private property!”
Mrs. Adams adjusted her glasses, squinting at the tree. “Is that little Jake’s rocket ship ornament? And Ethan’s paper snowflake?”
“What? No! This is my tree!”
“Then why does it say ‘Property of Suzana, Ethan & Jake’ in giant sparkling letters? Wait a minute. Did you steal their tree?”
“I… I… this is outrageous! It was a fire hazard. I just moved it here.”
“What’s outrageous is stealing a single mother’s Christmas tree on Christmas Eve.” Would have certainly had Mrs Adams’s voice frozen fire. Mr. Bryant shifted his head and asked, ‘What would your mother, bless her soul, think?’
Photos of Mr. Bryant and the tree were circulating online by noon. Someone had captioned: “Why Stealing Someone’s Christmas is a BAD Idea!!”
The doorbell rang at sunset. Mr. Our tree dragged behind him and he stood there: Bryant, face a ripe tomato color.
He muttered, refusing to look me in the eye, and said, “Here’s your tree.” Glitter dusted his expensive shoes.
“Thank you, Mr. Bryant. The boys will be so happy.”
He turned to leave but stopped. “The rent’s still due on the first.”
“Of course. And Mr. Bryant? You might want to hose down your lawn. I hear glitter can last through spring.”
We were taken aback by another knock one hour later. Mrs. Adams and five other neighbors were standing there with an exceptionally beautiful Christmas tree, cookies, and ornaments in their arms.
She gave me a quick hug and explained, “For inside the house.” “On Christmas, no child should cry.” Mr. Bryant ought to be more knowledgeable. In the past, his own mother was a single mother.
While Ethan and Jake were bouncing about and hanging new ornaments next to their salvaged treasures, the neighbors assisted us in setting up both trees.
“Mom!” Carefully setting his rocket ship on a limb, Jake yelled. “Observe! We now have two amazing trees!
“This really is the best Christmas ever!” Ethan added, his smile brighter than any tree light.
And our home was filled with love, laughter, and holiday cheer. As for Mr. Bryant? He hasn’t bothered us since. Karma really is the gift that keeps on giving.