Every year at the Hancock household, as we gather around the tree on the chilly (and hopefully white) Christmas morning, each kid and son-in-law gets a stocking. The stocking is overflowing with little, individually wrapped presents whose contents are usually packs of gum.
We pull each present out, one by one, until we reach the bottom. There, in the toe of the stocking, was an orange. I don't think I actually ever ate the orange until I was in college when I realized food was expensive and vitamin C helps with finals. I think we even threw the oranges at each other one year or tried to juggle with them. Either way, the orange tradition was fun as I was growing up.
With finals looming on the impending horizon, it's hard to properly look forward to Christmas and oranges. But as I sit here at work and slowly peel back the leathery skin of my orange, juice and the sweet smell of Christmas spurts out, and I can't help but drift down a snow-laced memory lane.
And as much as I don't want to think about Christmas right now (yes, I'm one of those people who bans Christmas songs until after Thanksgiving), I'm reminded of those memories.
Christmas, please come faster!
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