My Christmas Gift This work has been published in the Teen Ink monthly print magazine.

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   The beginning of this day was different. I could never get up the way I did today. I didn't know what was going through my head when I was lying in my bed for two or three seconds while I opened my eyes fully. I stood up and ran 15 feet, opened the door and slipped on a candy cane. I got up and looked over the balcony into the living room at the tree. Focusing at the big present under the tree I ran down with my fingers crossed hoping it was for me. I stepped down into the living room and looked at the tag. It read, "To Derek, From Santa." That was strange; it was my mother's handwriting.

I couldn't open any presents without my family there, so I went into the kitchen and grabbed a doughnut. I thought that I would make the coffee for my parents so it wouldn't take as long to open the presents. With the coffee made, all they would have to do is load the camera. Oh, wait a minute. I can't forget my brother. I knew he would take his time walking down the stairs in the slowest way possible. I'm surprised that he didn't get to the last step and then say something like, "You know what? I am going to take a shower." And, just to make me angry, he might walk back up the stairs and then laugh when he got to the top and say, "Then I have to have my breakfast while I read the paper."

When my brother was done pulling all his little jokes, we finally started opening the presents. My brother opened one, then it was my turn. I reached for the big one and my father said, "Not so fast. You can open that one last." Time went on and I opened a few more presents. Then it was time again, I reached for the present and ripped off the wrapping paper and looked at the box. It was a train set, something that I wanted for my birthday last March. My father and I spent all morning putting it together. When it looked done, I asked my father if I could use it. He said, "Wait a minute. I'm testing it out." I asked him again if I could use it and he gave me the same response. Twenty minutes later he was still using "his present." Ten minutes later I was finally able to talk him into letting me take over. I used it all afternoon except when I had to eat Christmas dinner and when my father wanted to use it again.

But now, seven years later, it sits on the rafters of the garage in a box covered with dust. I wonder why my father doesn't use it now. n


This work has been published in the Teen Ink monthly print magazine. This piece has been published in Teen Ink’s monthly print magazine.






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