We got pushed, pulled and put down.
My wife lost an earring.
One of my boys might have lost the ability to have children.
I received a permanent tire indent on my right foot from a stroller carrying twins.
Babies cried, mothers cursed and dads yelled, "I've had enough" as they ran to the pushcart where chestnuts roasted on an open fire. Oh, the humanity.
I urged my family on.
"Keep your heads up, elbows out, and just remember why we're here!"
It's the holiday season.
Now, look at the tree.
It's amazing. We live in the country, and we're surrounded by trees.
Lots of big trees. One of my neighbors is the forest.
Yet we think nothing each year of traveling two hours, paying for gas, tolls and parking, all for the opportunity to be packed like sardines and stand in the cold to look at a tree that itself was trucked from somewhere else to a spot between two tall buildings.
Not go and see the Rockefeller Center tree? Not a chance.
Our annual trek to roam the busy city sidewalks is as much a Lewis holiday tradition as bringing home a Christmas tree that's 3 feet too tall and running out of Hanukkah candles by the fifth night.
Before risking life and limb to see the lights on the limbs, we take part in another city holiday tradition: waiting on line to see the window display at Saks.
As with the tree, it's not a question of seeing something new.
We know what a store window looks like.
That's never stopped us from waiting on a line that stretches around the block, spending our time standing on a sidewalk grate that not only provides us with that special city holiday stench, but the real fear that at any moment the grate might give way, causing us to fall into that holiday stench.
"Will this collapse?" my wife asks, looking down after I insist she not look down.
"These things are made to last a lifetime," I reassure her as I move off the grate, should the lifetime warranty suddenly run out.
We eventually turn the corner onto Fifth Avenue, getting a perfect view of the hundreds still ahead of us waiting to see the store window.
We inch our way ahead, close enough to the people in front of us so that we could keep them warm with our hot breath.
The secret to being a successful window-shop-line person is to make sure you leave no space for anyone who might "accidentally" cut in. There's holiday spirit, and then there's a place in line.
You would think such a line would be an obvious clue to the popularity of the Saks holiday window display.
You would think people would know what the line is for. You would think.
"That's what the line's for?
" a lady asks one of two building-size security guards who make sure the long line doesn't block the entrance to the store.
"They're giving out free handbags," he says, not missing a beat.
That's what I call holiday spirit.
As part of the Lewis holiday tradition, we like to mix up the window shopping with actual go-in-the-store shopping. That leads us to the second part of the Lewis tradition: pretend to shop after seeing the price tag.
The boys thought it would be safe to look at gloves.
Gloves. On sale for $210. For gloves?
Over the course of my life I must have lost a hundred pairs, not to mention another hundred times losing just one of the pairs. Total them all up, and it would still be less than $210.
"Feel the leather," the clerk told my wife.
The boys asked if that would cost extra.
We end our day by elbowing our way to see the tree. Despite the long lines and short tempers, we find the holiday spirit.
A young couple asks if we want them to take our picture. Nice.
I make the same offer and, when done, start to walk away with their camera.
They're stunned. I smile and give it back. My wife pinches my arm.
Another Lewis holiday tradition.
Next year, we could cut our Christmas tree to size, have an extra box of Hanukkah candles and save ourselves from the human stampede. But something would be missing.
You can't start wassailing without first jostling.
Barry Lewis is the Sullivan County editor for the Times Herald-Record. He can be reached at 794-3712 or at blewis@th-record.
com.
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