Sledding into Christmas

Olivia, White Issue Editor

“Ready?” Dad asked. The front of the sled was a terrifying place for a 5 year old child, but I didn’t want to be sandwiched in the middle between my older sister and my father, so I had no choice. With a jolt, we started down the mountain of a hill with lightning speed. The gently falling snow flew into my little face that was only protected with a thin hat.

A high dose of adrenaline rushed through my body as we flew down the massive hill. The snow bit my face. I hated the feeling of having no control over where I was going. The bottom of the hill was approaching, but we flew right over it. My head shook as the sled thudded against the ground.  I felt the warm hand of my father pressed against my back, assuring me that I was going to be alright.

The sled lost power as we slid farther along the ground. Tears streamed down my face, not because I was sad, but the nipping cold forced my eyes to water.

“That was soooo much fun!” I said. “Can we go down again??? Please?”

“Yeah, you’re right,” Dad replied. “But only one more ride down the hill because we have to go to Grandma’s house soon.”

The snow capped hill was scattered with people who looked like polka dots against the white mounds. The group of people that were gathered at the top seemed so far away that they looked like the size of ants. The three of us approached the hill, and placing one foot in front of the other, we began to walk back up. It was a slow but effective ascent as we attempted to tackle the icy monster that was in front of us. After a few strides, the slick ice made me lose my footing, and I slid back down to the bottom.

The climb seemed to take forever. Between dogging incoming sleds and falling every few minutes, the hill was very challenging to climb. Wheezing and with mucus dripping down my face, I reached the top.

Finally, I reached the peak of the hill. I felt like I had won a race when my sister pulled me up. Dad looked down at his watch and said, “We have to go now! We are going to be late to the party!”

Tears streamed down my face, and this time it wasn’t from the wind. Silently I cried, I wanted to go down the thrilling hill again, but I didn’t want to show my disappointment. This was Christmas Eve I thought to myself, I’m supposed to be happy. As I climbed into the back of the big truck I  began to picture the memories and fun times that lied ahead at  my Grandma’s house.

Before the ride was over, I was shaking with excitement. Grandma’s house was always a magical trip. Every time I would go there, she would let me into her pantry. It was a small room, only a few feet wide, but the shelves were stacked with delicious treats. My Grandma always let me pick the treat of my choice.. Decadent treats were not the only thing welcome at Grandma’s house.  time with family was the most important thing. Aunts, uncles, cousins, would gather in the living room and talk for hours. It seemed so long since the simple joy of Christmas filled the air, and I wanted more.

The truck did a funny jolt, and I slid out of the high truck. I ran inside and flung off my cold winter gear. I kicked off by boots and hopped upstairs.

The outfit was laid out neatly on my pink bed. The bright red color clashed with the bubblegum color of my sheets.  I threw the red dress on and not bothering to do my hair, but on my winter boots.

“Ok,” Mom said, “Lets go to grandma’s house.”

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