Just My Type

The Trouble With Tinsel

By Mary Ellen [maryellen@ocalasgoodlife.com]

As a child, I was traumatized by tinsel. Yes, I said tinsel. You may be wondering how an ordinary Christmas decoration could do anything to anyone, but up until I was about 10 years old, I hated putting tinsel on the tree as much as I hated doing my homework. What’s more, I was afraid Santa would find out and put me on his “naughty” list.

Invented in Germany in 1610, tinsel was originally made from extruded strands of shredded silver. But because silver tarnishes, other materials such as aluminum and lead foil were used in the early twentieth century because of their ability to keep it’s shiny characteristic.

Lead tinsel was phased out in the 1960s due to the poisoning risk for children, and in 1972, the FDA banned the product. Modern-day tinsel is typically made from polyvinyl chloride (PVC) film or Mylar coated with a metallic finish.

Still wondering how the very sight of tinsel could make me want to hide under my bed and not come out until January? Well, my father was a Christmas tree perfectionist. Although I helped decorate our tree every year, it was under Dad’s supervision. Any result was subject to his scrutiny and had to meet his strict decorating standards.

I always wanted a live tree, but ours was artificial with branches that had to be pulled down and spread apart to shape it once out of the box. It wasn’t very tall, maybe 5 feet, so it had to rest on a table. Dad tackled the chore of stringing the lights, and I didn’t mind one bit. Then came the ornaments. He trusted me to hang them, though he checked the placement of those shiny orbs, and sometimes repositioned them, like Santa supervising his elves.

Last came the tinsel. I vividly remember Dad placing an entire box of it onto my outstretched hand, resting across my unwilling palm. Now, having the patience of a child, I was tempted to throw it all at the tree, hoping the long shiny strings would land perfectly in place. But no. Dad said the dreadful stuff had to be arranged on the branches one strand at a time.

At first, I followed his instructions, but that seemed to take forever. So, when I thought he wasn’t watching— although now I know he was always watching—I’d slip on an extra piece. Then I grew bolder and grabbed three or four strands. I wondered how much longer I could get away with that until I was discovered and sent to the North Pole as punishment. Which, by the way, would have been better than putting tinsel on the tree one strand at a time. Besides, that’s where Santa lived. It was the same every year, and every year, despite being excited about Christmas, I dreaded putting on tinsel as much as Frosty the Snowman dreaded the sun.

Eventually, the tree was complete, and my dad was happy. Which meant I was happy too. Looking back, I suppose I learned a valuable lesson about doing a job right. And although I don’t have any tinsel on my tree, I still want it to look as beautiful as the one in my childhood memory. And when it does, I smile to myself and think of Dad. I know he would be proud.