I don't know how it was in your family, but my mom had a rabid hate of multi-colored lights.
The only lights that were welcome in her house or on her house or recognized by her as good taste were small twinkling white lights.
As a kid, I did not have taste. At least, as defined by my mom. I would see the brightly colored rainbow of lights strung up on our neighbor's houses as we drove by, and I would gasp, "Oh, wow!"
My mom would make this strange growling noise under her breath, grip the steering wheel a little tighter and step on the accelerator.
It took awhile for me to figure out why my comment elicited that growl. Finally, one day, I asked my mom why she didn't like multi-colored lights.
"It looks like a jook joint," she explained.
A bit of translation is needed. "Jook joint" in my mother's vocabulary equalled "run-down beer joint dive where knives are likely to be used." I think it actually was "juke joint" but I never asked her to spell it.
Since we were a teetotalling Baptist family, I had no desire for our house to be mistaken for one of THOSE kind of establishments. Soon, I, too, was emulating my mother's growl as we drove by multi-colored lights.
And then I married my husband. Who grew up on rainbow colored lights - big, old-fashioned bulbs in every gaudy hue possible.
Why, no. He does not have permission to decorate my Christmas tree. But after over two decades of quibbling over this debate, I did cry uncle and let him string multi-colored lights on our front fence.
And yes, when I drive by it, I growl, "Jook joint," under my breath.