As an adult, it’s tough at Christmas when your ghosts of Christmas Past are drunken, screaming, sometimes punching, parents.
There was one year. I was young. I don’t remember how young, but I woke up Christmas morning and there were no presents under the tree.
And it wasn’t that no presents had been bought, no presents had been wrapped. No, my mom had bought, wrapped, and stacked quite a pile of presents in her closet. (my brother and I had found the key and snooped.)
Yet, Christmas morning there were no presents under the tree. Dad was in a stupor on the kitchen floor and Christmas had to wait while my brother drove mom into town to get stitches.