O Christmas Thieves....

T'was the winter of 1987. One day before Christmas, better known as Christmas Eve. My dad instructed my older brother and I to go out and find a Christmas tree for a poor(er) family that we knew in the city. To the person that doesn't know my dad, it would seem like this was a noble gesture of a warm hearted man. I almost bought into that same sentiment until he handed over $15. Fifteen dollars to buy a tree? Okay, this was 22 years ago, but the prices of Christmas trees haven't changed much from what I can tell. He looked over the rim of his thick Cazal glasses and gave us that look that meant "don't come back here without a tree", or at least that's what we understood.
My brother, Chucky and I set out on our task to find the world's cheapest tree. We rode along in our 1980 Chevrolet van with the captains chairs, bed, black & white, non-working TV, and the house phone installed in the dashboard. The phone was a good way to draw attention in the mid-80's while stopped at a red light.
We came upon the first Christmas tree stand and pulled in. As the younger brother, I was the natural choice to try to broker the deal. The salesman wasn't having any of my normal nice kid spin. He stuck to his guns and didn't budge on giving up a tree (for less than $30).
I remember walking across the parking lot back to the van. It was probably closer to 4:30 and the sky was getting darker. It was at that time I was hit with a stroke of genius, or idiocy depending on your view. I asked my brother to pull up next to the far end of the tree stand and wait for me. At this time in my life I wrestled and played football and prided myself on being mildly athletic. I guessed at the weight of a tree and how far I could run with it before someone could chase me down. I walked slowly along the trees, pretending to be counting 'more' money but watching my brother a few yards ahead of me.
Then like a bolt I was off, I snatched a 6 foot pine tree and sprinted as fast as I could to the brown van. My brother was kind enough to have the doors partially open for me but got scared as I was running and kept pulling off. It was like a scene out of a bad comedy that we've seen too many times.
I finally reached the van, slid the side panel door back and dove in with the tree on top of me. My brother sped off as fast as he could in that clunky, poop brown piece of partially rusted metal. We were riding along the river front with pine needles flying everywhere. I fought to close the door then made my way to the front passenger seat. It was the great escape! We stole in the name of Christmas. It must have been what Robin Hood felt in his many adventures. We got the tree and still had the $15. Life was good!
On our way home, we made two more similar heists at a couple unmanned Christmas tree stands. It was the best feeling in the world. It was around 6pm when we were finished robbing from the rich to give to the poor. We headed to the city to give the three trees to some needy families.
Some of you may ask 'why bother', it's almost too late. We're black, since when have we done anything on time?
As I sit here writing this, I remember being especially proud of what we did. The best part was bringing my dad back his $15. We walked in the house with our heads high and handed my dad the money. I remember it being three $5 dollar bills because after I told him what we did, he punched me in my chest and knocked my 140 lb frame across the room. The three $5 bills remained on the coffee table for at least a week as a reminder to me to never steal.
I wasn't always a quick learner and I'm sure he meant well with both the punch and the failed attempt at the 'meaning'. The lesson I took away from that event was - buy a damn fake tree for $20 and keep it until you can no longer screw it together. Thanks Dad.