For Jack Varnell, the best Christmas ever consisted of him roaming the streets of Atlanta, knocking on cardboard houses, and handing out peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwiches.
I have to decide every year whether I hate or don’t hate the Holidays.
I have good memories and bad memories from my holiday life, but when weighed against the crass commercialism that has grown into fights over Tyler Perry DVDs in Wal-Mart, it isn’t that hard to decide. But the good ones were good, and I don’t mean the typical Santa came down the chimney last night type. When I think of Christmas in particular, I am reminded of the most impactful one I have known. It came when I was an adult. It had nothing to do with credit cards, a Norelco razor in the snow, or Polar Cola Bears.
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