I stumble out of my room, raggity carpet beneath my feet. It's dark. Only slight shapes of masses can be seen and I don't trust my eyes enough to only use sight to walk. My hands feel my way around using the walls to help me move. It's five in the morning and the sun hasn't even contemplated rising any time soon. Like every night these past few weeks, I can see the light from the Christmas tree reflecting off of the glass of the picture frame in the hall, but not much else.

I start to dare to find my way into the living room, practically falling in the process. I start to meander along and ... CRACK! Something snaps beneath my feet. I nearly jump ten feet in the air, even though I was expecting it to happen. Every year it's the same thing. I walk out of my room early in the morning to step on mini candy canes in the darkness. It's been that way every Christmas for as long as I can remember. I don't even know how this tradition started.

It's been told to me that when I still couldn't say the word "no" my dad was getting back from work, or a trip, or whatever on Christmas Eve and didn't have much for the family due to money troubles. In a hurry, he went to a store with what little money he happened to have in his wallet. There wasn't much on the shelves, but there were a lot of cheap little candy canes that happened to catch his eye. When he got back to our little trailer filled with young children, he decided to decorate with them and spread them on the floor. And voila, the tradition started and never stopped.

I guess we just do this for fun every year, but I also like to think that it's to remind us where we've been. We haven't always been able to have gifts wrapped in fancy paper under the tree. We didn't always even have room for a tree. We've been in hard situations and bad times, but every year a little candy cane breaks beneath my feet.

Sage
Orofino High School Creative Writing

(Reprinted from 2011)

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