When Will the Tree Die

Our grandson is six. It is August the eight. He asks “When will your tree die?” Yes, I keep my Christmas tree up year round. We use it as a night light. I think he means the lights. I can kill them now I say, unplugging them. No, he says. The tree. When will the tree die? His mother figures it out before I can. It is not a real tree, she tells him. It is a fake tree. He looks at me as if I have crucified Jesus myself. I had frankly forgotten some people still put up a real Christmas tree.