In my younger days I liked to climb the Christmas tree as soon as Mom set it up. Some years I delighted in knocking all of the pretty balls to the floor. At first they would shatter on the floor, but later Mom switched those for plainer ones that I’m sure were plastic. There was also the year that she hung red satin balls. They weren’t plastic and they didn’t shatter. They did, however, come unwrapped as I batted them around the living room. There was a stream of red string wrapped around everything. She didn’t hang them on the tree again. This year, Mom used lights, ribbon, and a few bows. I like to sleep under the tree, but I just haven’t had the energy to climb it. Mom says that because I’m still here, I truly am a Christmas present. That makes me feel as loved as when I get to rest on her shoulder. I know I have cancer, which is not good, but I am loved. That is a present for me as well.