Several years ago, we celebrated our first Statesboro Christmas. Being that we were in a new home, I wanted to make it special. I decided I wanted to do a red and silver themed tree, and I wanted to make it perfect. I went to the store and picked out as many red and silver ornaments as I could possibly find. But after I decorated the tree, I realized it was missing something. 
    I stepped back and looked at my tree. Was it in the wrong place? No. Should I have added a splash of gold? Nope, that wasn’t it. My husband assured me the tree was beautiful. My son loved the lights and seemed pleased also. Then, it suddenly dawned on me. While the ornaments on my tree were all new, sparkling and beautiful, they had no meaning to me.
    This was not the Christmas tree I was used to.  I was used to an overcrowded tree full of mismatched ornaments.
    Growing up, my family’s Christmas tree was a hodge-podge of ornaments. While my sister and I dreaded traveling home from college and pulling the heavy boxes of ornaments down from the attic every Thanksgiving, I cherish the moments we spent together as a family decorating the tree. The ornaments each held their own family story.  
    There were the paper ornaments that hung by old yarn with our childhood photos on them. One of my favorites, made in 1984, had my sister’s photo on it. She was 8 years old. Our Wednesday night church group was making ornaments, and she rushed in right after school and gymnastics. She had no time to change and looked rough. Her hair was sticking straight out. There she was, forever glued right in the middle of a construction paper wreath, with two braids going in different directions. I would always get such a kick out of the photo and made it my mission every year to get that ornament right in the middle of the tree. Of course she would always catch me, but we would laugh over the story, have a great time and the ornament would end up, respectfully, in the back of the tree with all the other photo ornaments.
    After it dawned on me what I was missing, I went back to the store and bought more ornaments. They were only letters. However, they stood for the names of my family members.  I hung them on the front of the tree. It was a start.
    Over the years, I have hung the paper ornaments my son has brought home from school. I love that my perfect silver and red tree has become perfectly imperfect.  I look at it now and see memories, not just a color scheme. My mother knew what she was doing when she kept those heavy boxes of ornaments, year after year, and it will soon be time for us to, yet again, pull down our heavy boxes from the attic and start decorating the tree.
    Moments Magazine wants to hear your stories for our December issue. We are looking for several women to tell us their ornament tales. Pick your favorite ornament and tell us the story behind it. As you know, it doesn’t have to be the prettiest, just special to you. Email a photo and some background about your ornament to rdaly@statesboroherald.com. Deadline for entries is Monday, Nov. 14. 
    I look forward to hearing all about your heirloom ornaments.

    Reagan Daly is the editor of Moments Magazine. She can be reached at rdaly@statesboroherald.com or (912) 489-9473.