It’s all fun and games until someone gets hurt.

Growing up, Christmas at the tree lot wasn’t just about picking the perfect tree. It was a full-blown adventure, and my sister and I were always at the center of it. Every year, we’d run through the trees, weaving in and out of the rows like our lives depended on it. My dad would count to ten, giving us a head start, and then we’d take off, dodging low branches and trying to blend in with the camouflage jackets we’d sometimes wear. As we got older, and a little bigger, the game got more difficult–and let’s be honest, less graceful–but that didn’t stop us. It became a tradition, no matter how ridiculous it looked.

But of course, there was always a catch. My mom would be standing on the sidelines, shaking her head with that look–the one that said she was both amused and concerned. She’d say, “It’s all fun and games until someone gets hurt.” She wasn’t wrong, though. There were the occasional tumbles and branches to the face, but that didn’t stop us. The thrill of the chase was too much fun, and the risk felt part of the excitement. 

Even though she was always cautious, I think deep down my mom liked watching the chaos unfold. After all, she’d always laugh a little after delivering her warning, even if it was followed by a sigh. Those Christmas tree lot chases are some of my favorite memories, and they remind me of how simple traditions can bring so much joy, no matter how reckless they might seem. It wasn’t just about the game itself–it was about the moments that made us laugh, and the people who made it all worth it.