The best present on the worst Christmas

I’m a bit of a Grinch, when it comes to Christmas. While others around me revel in the celebrations, looking forward to spending Christmas Eve around family, I always get a bit grumpy around this time of year. My mom remarried when I was about 9 years old. That got me a little brother, who’s 8 1/2 years younger than me and whom I love dearly — even if we barely have anything in common and rarely talk nowadays. It also got me the stereotypical stepdad, with whom I never quite managed to get along while I was living at home.1 My memories of Christmas always involve endless bickering and larger fights leading up to it, because people were under pressure to make it a nice evening. I was always glad when it was over and I could retreat to my room or in later years go out for a few rounds of billiard with my best friend. I could write a whole essay about my stepdad, but this story is only tangentially related to him. When my mom remarried, we moved in with my stepdad. And on Christmas 1996,…

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