On Dec. 11, 2004, I turned 41 years of age. The very next day, I bought my first Christmas tree.
Now it may not seem to some that buying a Christmas tree should be that big of a deal.
After all, according to the National Christmas Tree Association (yes, there is such a group), Americans bought an estimated 24 million real Christmas trees this past holiday season, making it the second year in a row the number of trees purchased went up from the previous year.
Until this year, however, I had not bought one. In fact, until a few weeks ago, I didn’t even celebrate Christmas at all.
Didn’t get a tree, didn’t send out Christmas cards, didn’t buy presents for my family and friends.
Instead, year after year, I simply pretended Christmas didn’t exist.
And for years, my friends—and, later, my wife—put up with my little seasonal eccentricity.
They didn’t have much choice, seeing how I would regularly rail against what I saw to be the hypocrisy of the holiday.