Toothpaste sprayed out onto the mirror as I scrubbed the back regions of my mouth. “I don’t want to go!” I screamed to my mum or whoever wanted to listen. “Just because I am part of this family, it doesn’t mean that I have to do everything the same as you!” I heard mum mumble something in response to my statement. I didn’t understand why it was necessary every year. Why couldn’t we just do it once, get it over and done with in one short sweep. Even better, just film it and replay it back every year it was needed. I had way better things to do than sit next to old smelly people with wrinkly skin. Ok… I confess I didn’t want to go to church on Christmas Day. Isn’t Christmas a kids’ day, where love and happiness is fulfilled with many presents under the tree? That’s what it is meant to be like. We are not meant to be sitting on hard wooden seats, in a hot non-airconditioned room listening to some guy preaching. That’s
not Christmas to me. That’s not for me.
“Come on Mum, why do we need to go every year?”
“Tradition son, something that makes us who we are!” she responded with minimal delay. I wasn’t really listening; the glow of the fairy lights raped around the Christmas tree was way to fascinating to turn away. I am not sure how long I stared at the light for but I think this was because I was beginning to become bored with the long debate which had occurred all morning. Why wouldn’t see just give up? What has she got to lose? I tried again. “Mum, you go ahead with Dad, I will catch up” The look that followed that remark was comprehensive. The collage of a spark of Christmas happiness, a shade of her Christian background and the look of complete evilness overpowered me. I thought this would be a good time to make a move.
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