I lay in bed in my Mickey Mouse- themed room, one little leg sticking out from under Donald Duck’s face and the covers pulled over my head to prevent the monsters from seeing me. My dad seems preoccupied with putting the finishing touches on the holiday lights outside my single bedroom window. Paper white snow surrounds the already set up holiday figurines adorning the yard, giving off soft rays of various colored lights which bounce off our house. Mom sits downstairs, quietly watching television, flipping through channels she has no interest in watching, waiting for Dad to come back inside.

Suddenly, a crash echoes through and around the house.

I leap from my bed and peer anxiously from my window before running from my room. My feet, covered by my Barbie footie pajamas, hit the tiles that align in squares covering the hallway from the bedrooms to the staircase in a rhythmic beat.

I’m gonna fall and hurt myself, I think.

As I finally reach the living room on the main floor, panting and out of breath, I run to my mom who has finally decided on a TV show and sits wrapped up in a plaid colored blanket.

“Aren’t you supposed to be in bed?’’ She questioned.

“Santa fell off the roof!” I shouted.

She hurriedly gets up and looks out the living room window behind our couch before getting her winter coat on.

“Wait here,” She tells me while heading out the back door.

Next thing I know, I’m at my grandma’s house with all my relatives. We’re watching The Nutty Professor play on the antique television set in the Christmas room. My grandma’s phone rings. My aunt answers it with concern coating her voice.

After she hangs up, everyone finds themselves crammed into various colors and sizes of cars and vans and transported to the hospital my dad is in.

Once in his hospital room, I finally get a glimpse of my dad, my hero. He looks so fragile, as if any move can shatter him completely, as if any breath can send unbearable amounts pain throughout his entire body. Various shapes and colors of wires stick out of him at odd angles, giving him the appearance of Frankenstein. Beeping from the numerous machines fills the air as if providing some kind of horror movie soundtrack. Of course, me being seven, all things creepy scare me, so the sight of this monstrous creature holding my mom’s hand freaks me out, even if he does resemble Dad in the slightest way. He sits up and reaches his arms towards me. Pain fills his face but it seems to disappear as quickly as it appeared.

“How ‘bout a hug, kiddo?” he asked. His voice is so weak that it scares me even more. I hide behind my aunt’s leg.

I run up to him, my snow pants swishing behind me, hand him the balloon my aunt picked out, and run back to my aunt.

He looks disappointed, like when a kid finds a kitten but is told they can’t keep it, but understanding. He lets out a laugh, an infamous move by Dad. He laughs even when pain courses through his body.