by Joey Rodman
I can’t quite remember what I got for Christmas last year. Or the year before. And definitely not the year before that.
In fact, for the most part I can’t remember what I got for Christmas for the last ten years. (No offense to my husband I promise.) I can however, remember what I got for Christmas when I was six years old.
You see, those gifts changed my life. I remember finding them in my mother’s closet…
I had waited until she was asleep on the couch to go poking through her room. I knew my presents were in there because she had forbidden me from setting foot anywhere near her small closet about a week before. I might have been six, but I wasn’t an idiot; something was hiding in there.