I Hate Christmas

Everyone around me loves Christmas, but I hate it.
My mum loves it, she gets like a little kid. My sister loves it. Mind you, she is a little kid. So does my dad. He’s like a little kid all year round, without Christmas adding to it. I’m the only one in our house who hates Christmas. I refuse to join in with the party games. I refuse to buy anyone cards or presents. And I especially hate seeing all the ‘pretty’ decorations around the house.
“Why do you hate Christmas so much?” my mum asks me every year, whenever I groan when she gets the tree and the decorations out of the loft. Becky, my sister, squeals, and always demands to stick the fairy at the top of the tree. And every year I give Mum the same answer.
“Every year, Gran and Grandpa send their presents by post. Every year, they send me something girly. When I was younger, it was always the latest Barbie. Nowadays, it’s a box of make-up, or something pink, like a pink t-shirt. And then I’m expected to write them a thank you letter, saying how I liked the present and it’s wonderful.”
And every year, Mum will laugh and say that’s no reason to hate Christmas. And I’ll say it is, because I’m not girly at all, I don’t mind if my hair’s a mess, I don’t change my clothes twenty times a day, and I hate the colour pink. When I younger, I liked Action Men, so it was always embarrassing to open up the present Gran and Grandpa sent me, to find a Barbie. Recently, it’s been embarrassing to find a box of make up, a pink t-shirt, or a DVD, which isn’t an action film, but a stupid chick flick.
This is when Mum will say: “Why’s that a reason to hate Christmas? It’s just one present. Surely you can forget one measly present, and enjoy Christmas?” And I’ll sulkily say: “No.”
At this point, Mum will get angry, call me an ungrateful swine, and send me up to my room. We go through the same ting every year. Mum will ask me why I hate Christmas, she’ll get angry and send me to my room, to think about what I’ve just said. It’s like tradition.
This year, instead of sending the presents down by post, Gran and Grandpa actually came to visit us. They came down the day before Christmas Eve, and went back the day after Boxing Day.
Christmas Day rolled around. I stayed in bed for as long as possible, then when half past eleven turned up, I got up, had a shower, got dressed and went downstairs. By the time I came downstairs, everyone had opened their presents.
“There you are,” Dad said. “Where’ve you been?”
“Sleeping,” I replied.
“Sleeping? You slept through all the noise we’ve been making?” Dad shook his head, disbelievingly.
“Look, Billy, I got a Barbie!!!” Becky squealed at me. I saw something with blonde hair thrust in my face.
“That’s… nice,” I said, feebly.
“Now, come on, open your presents, Billy,” Mum dragged me into the living-room. “it’s just yours left under the tree.”
I looked under the tree. There were three presents. One from Becky. One from Mum and Dad. And one from Gran and Grandpa.
I decided to leave Gran and Grandpa’s present until last.
Becky had brought me the James Bond box set. I love James Bond, especially the Pierce Brosnan ones.
Mum and Dad had got me the X Men Box set.
I picked up Gran and Grandpa’s present cautiously.
“Now, we didn’t know what to get you this year, Belinda,” Gran told me. My grandparents always insisted on calling me Belinda, even though I hate it. “We asked your mother and she told us to buy this. She said you’d love it.”
My heart skipped a beat. Gran and Grandpa had finally given up on buying me girly things. They’d finally brought me something I’d actually like.
I ripped some of the paper off. It was a DVD, I saw the word “Harry”, and I immediately thought it was going to be the latest “Harry Potter” film. I ripped the rest of the paper off, excitedly.
My heart dropped a little.
The DVD was “When Harry Met Sally.”