Ghetto Christmas

Most memorable Christmas:

When I was no older than eight, I spent Christmas with my father in Toledo, Ohio in a tiny twinkie trailer. I begged and begged him for a Christmas tree to no avail. He always had some excuse. "Trees are too expensive." "There's no room." I was not to be silenced though. Late on Christmas eve my father came home from work with the biggest and scraggliest tree I've ever seen. He admitted that he'd pulled it off an abandoned lot once they'd packed up shop for the season. I didn't care. We didn't have decorations. We didn't even have a tree stand. Instead, we propped it up against a wall with books to keep it steady.

I spent two hours making paper chains out of construction paper. As a finishing touch, I crafted a tin foil star for the top. It was pathetic and I was thrilled! About one am my dad finally scooted me off to the couch to sleep so "Santa" could come. I almost slept through the ruckus he caused while wrapping his last minute gifts by my head. Determined not to waiver my believe in flying reindeer and Ol' St. Nick, I figured he was wrapping all the presents for my nieces and nephews while waiting to greet the "Big Man" himself. Somewhere in there I drifted off. At six am I was literally jarred from sleep as the tree fell on me.

It was still worth it.