Christmas — the celebration of the birth of Christianity’s savior, Jesus Christ. Celebrated every Dec. 25 and preceded by a whole season of bright colored lights, upbeat music and time off of school and work.
A turkey roasts in the oven while rolls cook to a golden brown below it. The house is warm from all the baking going on, and a sugar cookie candle burns on the corner table. I help myself to some finger foods -- a cheese cube and salami platter -- while grandma cooks the green beans on the stove across from me.
The fence is 200 feet away, grass green and dirt a grayish brown from the rain that came down earlier. A man on a riding lawn mower does his work on the baseball field behind me. I’m sure he’s wondering what a girl is doing sitting in an empty dugout of a recreation softball field on a Monday afternoon.
I see home in the eyes of my father as he hugs me for the first time in five weeks. I see home in the smiles on the faces of my old high school friends as we embrace and catch up on lost time. I see home in the purple walls of my childhood room, still plastered with One Direction posters that I was too lazy to take down when I moved away.
“Well it’s my right to ____!” is something we hear often these days.