My mother and father were at the table eating breakfast, my father looked at me as I sat by the Christmas tree.

He requested that I go and wake my siblings up for breakfast; it was not what I wanted to actually being doing on Christmas day, but it seemed every year I was the only one up at 7 in the morning.

As we sat around the table eating breakfast, my oldest brother requested for us to stand by the old rose garden for a family photo. I sat there mumbling my displeasure at the motion.

After a moment out in the cold taking the photos, my father tapped me on my shoulders and whispered in my ears to open up a gift.

I ran to the biggest present, nothing was going to stop me from tearing that to shreds.
As I stood from the ground lifting up my gift, my father looked pale. Almost looking ill, he started to weave in and out in the small crowd of people. Next I knew he was on the ground, wheezing and coughing. He grasped his chest trying to catch his breath.