From the time I was five years old to now, Christmas has always been my favorite time of the year. The good part about Christmas time isn’t the day itself, but rather the season in its entirety. Christmas is baking cookies as the smell of fresh pine needles lingers in my living room. It’s laughing while watching “Elf” and cracking up even harder when I hear my dad’s giggle.

It’s forcing my brother to make a musically to “All I want for Christmas” by Mariah Carrey and getting sent to my room because I made him cry. Christmas is stuffing myself with my aunt’s delicious green and red rice crispy treats until I physically can’t fit another one in my stomach. It’s forcing my cat into a Santa costume and crafting her a homemade stocking to hang above the fireplace so that Santa remembers to bring her a gift too.

Sometimes I wonder why the very thought of Christmas fills me with endorphins, but then I realize how obvious the answer is. Every memory I have associated with Christmas involves the people who I care about the most, so no wonder I’m so happy when I think of December. If you haven’t already guessed by now, I’m talking about my family. Christmas is about my family.

The word “family” doesn’t have a static definition to me. My parents got married years before I was born and had my brother when I was in preschool, so for a while, my definition of family was the four of us together. When I thought of the word “family” I instantly pictured a memory of my mom holding my left hand, as my dad held my right, and together, they swung me up and down off the sidewalk while my little brother trudged behind. When I was in third grade my parents split up and it crushed me.

Family has always been the most important aspect of my life, so the idea of not being able to see both my mom and dad everyday was devastating. I couldn’t fathom a life in which I couldn’t snuggle up next to my mom every time I had a bad dream or ask my dad for help on my math homework whenever I needed it.

Out of all the things that came to mind which I knew I would miss out on when my parents got a divorce, Christmas was the most frightening. I was terrified to have to open my presents in the morning without both of my parents smiling down at me and jumping up to give them a hug of gratitude. I couldn’t picture a Christmas morning without our tradition of mixing our leftovers from the night before into a batch of scrambled eggs. Little did I know that I would never have to experience Christmas without both of my parents.

The love my parents have for me is so strong that every morning, on December 25, for one day a year they agree to put their differences aside and open our gifts like we are a family. Christmas is the one day I get to pretend like things are the way they used to be. Even though my definition for the word “family” has been ever-changing, “Christmas” has always been the same.