The Christmas Present

This story is from a book I wrote in the 1990s.  It’s my most vivid childhood memory of Christmas.

I couldn’t forget the look on my mother’s face when I opened my Christmas present from my grandfather.  I was about 12 years old.  My mother’s father lived in California; we now lived in Georgia.  Gifts and letters had replaced lively visits to his apartment.  Read the rest of this entry »