Wednesday, December 15, 2010
The Boy, who is now eight, is hanging decorations on the Christmas tree in the quiet moments before the school bus comes. He finds some shards at the bottom of a box. "Hey," he says. "Are these from the time I bit into an ornament?"
I laugh. "No, no," I say. "All those pieces are long gone. Boy, am I glad we don't have to worry about anything like that anymore."
He giggles and goes back to putting bells on the branches.
Five minutes later, the entire Christmas tree overbalances, cast-iron stand and all, and topples to the floor at his feet, sending needles, water, and shattered glass spraying all across the living room.
Posted by Jack Feerick at 8:50 AM