For shcool I had to write a Christmas story. It didn't matter if it was fictional or not, so I wrote one that was semi-autobiographical. I drew from various events from past Christmas experiences; meaning all of this probably didn't happen on specifically one Christmas, but everyone in my family sure can relate, giving it somewhat a timeless quality. Read on and tell me what you think.

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We went to bed filled with expectations of the next morn. With Christmas Eve coming to a close a thought that was like no other would not—could not escape our mind: When we wake up it'll be Christmas! It was tough getting to sleep due to all the thoughts of what the next day may bring, but some how each of us kids made it. One by one we entered the world of dreamland.

Our parents, who had been waiting for everyone to fall asleep, then crept down to the living room. Once there they added their own gifts under the decorated fake pine tree, then they went off to fill the stockings. One by one the stockings were filled up with candy toys and other things that may be of interest. (I remember one year when we each received a pack of batteries in our stocking!) After they were done they too entered the wonderful world of dreamland, awaiting the morning of Christmas. They knew they needed to get to bed quick, because once the children were up the parents would soon follow—whether they wanted to or not.

It was my little brother who was up first. After that he shook me to get me out of bed. From there we split up. I going to the little boys' room he going to the girls'. Once we all were conscious we crept up to the tree to see what was new. After finding everything that was added in the night we went up to the stockings—the ones that were empty last night had now been filled to overflowing! We each found our own (leaving the last two for mom and dad of course) and dumped out our treasure—making sure no one ate their goodies yet, for we still needed to ask permission.

Permission... the thought came to all of us at one time or another on that morning; who would wake Mom and Dad to get permission. In years past we had decided different ways: The oldest—being the most influential should go, or they youngest—being the cutest should go, or one of the middle children should go—for they had spoken of it first. This particular year no one was feeling especially brave so we all went together.

Back up the stairs we went and then filed into our parents' room. The plan was that on the word “three” we all say “Merry Christmas!” and hope that would awaken the sleeping parents. Three came and the plan worked well, except for the fact that our parents did not wake up. “Let's try it again only louder,” came a voice from one of the children. “Alright,” I said, “But not too loud we don't want to wake the neighbors.” I smiled then counted to three again. “Merry Christmas!” we all shouted with enough gusto to wake the soundest sleeper.

Dad woke up, smiled, then woke up Mom (she didn't hear us because she was deaf). Plans were made to meet in the living room in five minutes—too long of a time for us kids, but it was something we had to do. Once again we went back down the steps and into the living room. We stared at the presents awaiting the time that we could open them.

After what seemed like forever, Mom and Dad came down the steps. Dad had his Bible in hand. We made a place on the couches for our parents and gathered 'round as dad opened up to the Christmas story. He read the account of Christ coming to us on Christmas. He was the reason we give gifts on Christmas. Christ was the perfect gift!

After a prayer, Dad grabbed one of the presents from under the tree, read who it was to and the gift-opening began! By the end we had each sectioned off a part of the living room as “ours,” and had filled it with all our gifts. Legos were being built; action figures were being opened; clothes were being tried on. It was a wonderful Christmas all the way around.

# Just Blew In From Joey Markham At 3:23 PM