This is the story of the Great Mistletoe Catastrophe.
Do you know what a catastrophe is? Well, you need to look up some of the more obscure meanings of the word "catastrophe." Because this didn't happen with a roar or a bang. It didn't even happen with a whimper. It happened even more quietly than snuffing a candle. But it was still a catastrophe.
When our children were very little, my wife and I were decorating the house for Christmas. For the kids, it was a fun and exciting event. For me, well, I was trying to make it fun and exciting for them - and for all of us. But for my wife, it was just one more chore, one more checkbox on her list of things to do.
In the middle of it all, I realized that we didn't have any mistletoe. I said, "We should go buy some mistletoe, and hang it somewhere!"
She replied, "Why?"
The tone of that "Why" was exactly the same tone she would have used if she had said "No." Not just any "No," but a "this is final, no more discussion, and I don't want to hear another word about it," one-word sentence, "No."
Try it. Practice saying "No" like that a few times. Now, use exactly the same inflection, and say "Why" instead. That was her reply.
I paused in my response, trying to come up with an answer. I looked at her. I said, "I thought ...," and then I stopped. I never completed the sentence. There were no words for an adequate response to her question.
Since that moment, thirty years ago, I have never uttered the word "mistletoe" - not in her presence, and not in anyone else's presence, either - and we have never had mistletoe anywhere in our house. And that, my beloved grandchildren, is the catastrophe.
