like Windex and Pine-sol, not Christmas. His
store-bought tree was small, and none of the decorations were home-made. It’s all so wrong. Why
does it have to be this way?
Christmas morning arrived, and I didn’t even
want to get out of bed. One part of me was
excited to see what “Santa” had brought me, but
the other part felt like crying. This doesn’t even
feel like Christmas. I wish mom were here with us.
When my baby sister Crystal pounced on me and
screamed, “It’s Christmas!” I realized I had no
choice. I rolled out of bed, and Megan followed.
We made our way downstairs and found the
familiar curtain “Santa” had hung blocking our
view of the living room. After making us line up
youngest to oldest, Dad pulled the curtain aside
and we entered one by one. The Beach Boys’
“Little St. Nick” was playing from Dad’s stereo,
and my mouth watered as I smelled the savory
scent of Pillsbury cinnamon rolls baking in the
oven. Yes! I love cinnamon rolls!
Dad took lots of pictures as we ate the gooey
breakfast treats and unwrapped our gifts. He had
obviously spent a lot of money, and I could tell
he was really trying to make us happy. I shuffled
over to him and draped my arm around him.
“Thanks for all this, Daddy. I know the divorce
has been hard on you, too. I’ve missed you so
much.”
His piercing blue eyes filled with tears that
threatened to pour out at any second. “You’ll
never know how much I’ve missed you guys. But
you’re here now.” He gathered me into his arms
for a great, big hug and stroked my silky blonde
hair.