*I grew up an only child. It made me independent, and bossy. It's no surprise I enjoyed telling my parent's what to do. I loved Christmas and decorating the tree. In October, I would be begging my mom to let me put it up.
On my tiptoes I went over to the star’s box and opened it quietly, cord hitting the floor. I moved a sofa chair over to the left of the tree and climbed on the chair with the star. After a few minutes of adjustments I made the star sit comfortably; like a nympho on top of a sailor. It was happy. It was gorgeous. It lasted one minute as the tree fell over to the right.
“I tried to put the star on,” I answered, trying to hold up the tree so she could roll out from under it. When my mom got to her feet she was a mess of glitter and pieces of broken glass.
“Please, I’m not a child, there is no Santa Claus.” I said, trying to hold my smirk.