I remember Christmas when I was in first grade. A couple of weeks before the big day, Mom and Dad took us to the lot next to Safeway that had been cleared of pumpkins and was now stocked with evergreen trees. After Tiff and I spent what seemed like hours picking out the perfect tree, Dad strapped our prize to the top of the station wagon and we drove home slower than normal. He helped Mom put it in its stand, then took care of the lights outside while his three ladies spent two or three hours decorating it with lights and balls and tinsel. After we were done, Dad lifted me up to put the angel at the very top while Mom made hot chocolate. As the three of us sat on the couch, Dad brought out a huge package and put it under the tree. Tiff and I had to check it out of course, and I found out it was for me from my Granny. She'd tole me she had something special for me the last time we'd talked on the phone, and I could feel the "special" just by looking at it. It was covered in bright, shiny paper decorated with elves and Santas, tied up with a shiny red ribbon that must have been two inches wide and had been fashioned into a huge bow. Trying to lift it (that sucker was heavy), poking it, shaking it the best I could; nothing told me what it was. I begged one or both of my parents to let me open it at least three times a day from the time Dad put it there until Christmas day. I didn't think I was going to make it that year, worried that I'd die from curiosity. Hey, I'd heard it killed cats.

Mom and Dad were up by 6 AM every morning back then. That Christmas day they pretended to sleep in and it took me a good fifteen minutes to drag my laughing parents out of bed. I was dying and they were laughing. First, they had to go to the bathroom and wash up, then Mom insisted on making some coffee. Meanwhile, THE PACKAGE that had been calling me constantly for the past two weeks sat there among the dozens of others.

Finally, the four of us were sitting on the floor. Liz and Artie Henderson, aka Mom and Dad, my sister Tiffany and me, Patricia. I hadn't even started calling myself Trish yet, and Pint, my sister's nickname for me was years down the road. I'm sure she wasn't the Hoover yet, either. Come on. She was in second grade, for gawd sakes.

That year was special for another reason. Up till then Mom or Dad would pick through the packages and give them out. Tiffany had reached the point where she could read a little and this year she got to hand them out. She'd pick one up, try to figure out what the writing on the tag said, then would take it to Mom or Dad to make sure she got it right.

Christmas was always a happy time, but this one was special. Like all the others I could remember, it was for us kids, but this year, Mom and Dad got to enjoy it, too. I'm sure they enjoyed handing out presents and taking pictures and seeing the looks on our faces on past Christmases, but this year they got to sit back and experience it. Kind of like the difference when Mom cooks Christmas dinner or we go over to Grandma's. Mom loves to cook, but she doesn't get to sit on the couch and talk to the family when Christmas is at our house. Well, maybe that's not a good example because she spends most of the day in Grandma's kitchen anyway, but you know what I mean.

Mom and Dad were sitting on the floor. Dad had his back against the front of the couch and Mom was sitting on the floor between his legs. Dad's arms were wrapped around Mom. Every once in a while he'd lean down and kiss her on the top of her head; every once in a while she'd turn and they'd kiss each other on the mouth, nothing special, kind of a peck on the lips. Both had contented smiles for most of the morning. Every once in a while she'd tell Dad to get a picture of this or that and we'd be blinded by the flashbulb for a few seconds after it went off.

Tiff and I were pretty good friends back then. Oh, there was a little sibling rivalry going on and she made sure I knew she was the older one and that I needed to keep in line, but it wasn't anything like it was now. I think the change in her attitude started about the same time as she started to grow tits. It may have been hormones or something else, but the obvious change was the way her chest started to stick out. Something she was definitely aware of and made every effort to display, every chance she could. No slouching for Tiffany once those puppies started to come in.

One of our Christmas traditions was to start with the smallest package and work our way up. That's not as bad as it sounds. Some pretty good gifts can come in small packages. One of my favorite presents from the year before had been a watch. It was probably the second or third thing I opened up. Of course, this year I opened package after package, not paying attention to what was in them. That box from Granny was the biggest thing there, and it had my complete attention.

Roscoe was also there. He was our dog back then, half German Shepherd, half Boxer. He'd been in the family longer than I had, and some people said he was the world's ugliest dog. I think the good Lord created him for kids to crawl on. Roscoe pulled many a babysitting stint when Tiff and I were learning to walk and Mom needed to do something in the kitchen. Roscoe spent his days in the house and his nights outside in his doghouse.

That year he'd gotten a large box of Milk Bones and a three pack of rawhide bones that were bigger than my arm. He was laying there with a couple of ribbons around his neck, happily destroying the knot on the end of his bone when Tiffany ran out of presents for me. She tried to pick up the big one, but it was too heavy so she scooted it along the carpet to Mom and Dad.

"I think this one says Roscoe."

I must have checked that package out at least a thousand times. Granny wasn't like Aunt Peg. Her writing was clear and precise. I had memorized "To Patricia, From Granny" the first time I read it. I wanted to yell, I wanted to cry, I wanted to grab that stupid package away from my sister.

Mom and Dad looked over at me and he squeezed her. "What do you think, Hon?"

She appeared to think it over. "She's been pretty good. I think she's waited long enough."

Dad looked over at Tiff and said, "Let your sister open her present."

Dad squeezed Mom again and she turned around for another kiss. My attention wasn't really on them, but this one seemed to go on longer than the earlier ones. A grinning Tiffany slid the box over to me.

I think everyone expected me to just rip the paper off like I'd done with all my other presents. I knew this one was special. Dad handed me the letter opener he'd been using to help with the packages that had too much tape, and I carefully worked off the ribbon, leaving the bow intact, then got the wrapping paper off without ripping it.

The box was rectangular, about three feet by two and a half, maybe eight inches high. It was burgundy, and said ROBINSON'S on the lid in gold letters. There were four small pieces of tape, holding the top to the bottom. Once the tape was cut, I struggled to get the lid off. Dad pushed Mom aside and came over to help.

I think I gasped when the lid came off and I could see what was inside. It was a comforter, and even though it was folded up in the box, I could tell that it was softer than any blanket or quilt or bedspread I'd ever felt, that it was warmer than any of them, that I would never be cold at night. I could also feel the love. It may have been in a fancy department store box, but I knew that Granny had made this with her own two hands. Which was really special because Granny was almost blind and could hardly close her hands on days when her arthritis was acting up. Yet every stitch was perfect. I knew she only used a needle and thread, but the stitching looked like it had been done with a machine.

Twice a year, Dad would put new batteries in the smoke detectors and we'd change all the clocks. The week before that in the fall, Mom would send him into the attic and he'd bring out that Robinson's box and she would take the comforter to the dry cleaner. In the spring, it would go to the dry cleaner the week after, then back in the box and the attic, until next fall.

Granny was around for one more Christmas, and she got to spend it with us. She was almost totally blind when she left us, and her arthritis was really bad, almost constant. I think she knew she wasn't going to be there the following year. We had a chance to say goodbye to each other and express our love. I was sad to see her go, but happy she didn't have to suffer any more. And I always had that comforter to remember her by. Because I know it had a chunk of her soul stitched into it.

And now, it was years later, eight days before Christmas, a Saturday morning. The ground was covered in snow, and I could see a couple of huge icicles hanging down from the roof through the partially opened curtains. I was on my side, two pillows under my head, my knees bent, and the covers were up to my chin. I was comfy-cozy under my comforter.

It didn't hurt that there was an arm laying across my side, the hand on my arm, not holding or grabbing, just there. And there was a very warm, very nice body pushed up against my back. The warm breath felt good on the back of my neck and the side of my face every few seconds.

I would have stayed there forever if I could, but I needed to use the bathroom. I think that's what woke me up in the first place. I eased the hand off my arm, lifted the covers and slid out. Brrr! I reached over to the chair and grabbed my thick, comfy robe, last year's Christmas present from Mom and Dad, then shoved my feet into my Tigger slippers, Tiff's present. She's not a total asshole. And I've liked Tigger since forever.

Susie scrunched up a bit, pulling her arms into her stomach and moved a bit over to where I'd been lying moments before. She also made some noise, which I interpreted to be grumbling. I briefly considered taking the slippers off so I could really give her something to grumble about when I got back, but being Christmas season and all, I didn't want to be mean. Plus, I didn't want to freeze my little toesies off, either.

Guys have it made. Most of the time they can use the toilet without having to sit down. I didn't have that option, and the seat was really cold. I started shivering as soon as I sat. Ever tried to pee when your teeth are chattering?

I finished my business (interesting phrase, that. What kind of business are you in, Miss? Oh, I'm in the shit and piss business), stood up and pulled my robe tight around me. We have this heat lamp in the bathroom that has three big light bulbs, sort of like floodlights, but they give off a lot of heat. The bathroom had warmed up considerably since I'd come in. I flushed, then turned on the hot water in the sink and let it warm up. When it was the right temperature, I washed my face, then brushed my teeth. That done, I brushed my hair. Not bad. No more Miss Zombie.

I had to nudge Susie back on her side of the bed when I got back. Of course, there were some more groans, but she never opened an eye. A couple of seconds after I had the covers up to my chin again, she was up against my back, her hand on my stomach this time, her face nuzzled back in my hair. I held her hand in both of mine, pulling it further into my body.

In case you're wondering, no, I had not turned into Little Miss Lezzy. Susie and I were just friends. Really good friends, but just friends. She had been living in our house since Thanksgiving. Since I have a queen size bed and there weren't any empty bedrooms floating around, she'd been sleeping with me for almost a month. The whole family made it very clear to her that sleeping on the couch was not an option that first night she came to stay with us.

Dougie is my boyfriend. Both of us knew something was up with Susie when we went to the football game the day before Thanksgiving. Dougie's the one who got it out of her. The poor girl was scared to death that she was going to be raped before the four day weekend was over. Her mother's latest boyfriend had been doing her sister for a couple of years and had made it clear that Susie was next.

Dougie's dad arranged to get the boyfriend arrested. But the fact that he had a truckload of drugs in her house that he was dealing and that a complaint had been filed about his harassment and promises of rape didn't keep the judge from letting him back on the street. He had to come up with $800 for bail, something he could make back in a weekend. He was gone before we knew it. Nobody had heard from him since, which was a good thing.

Susie's mother and sister got back from visiting relatives that Sunday. Her mother was hauled away and a judge told her she could either go to jail or rehab. I didn't know it, but she'd done a couple of rehabs before. Susie's sister Vicky moved in with Veronica, the third of the three mouthkateers. That's a nickname for my sister, Vicky and Veronica, based on their oral proficiency. Vicky still spent a lot of time on her back with football players between her legs after the move, but I could tell she was glad the creep was out of her life. Neither of them had much to say about their mother. The drugs had been the focus of her life for years, and the girls had it a lot better staying with friends.

I'd learned some things about Dougie's real father while he was getting the story from Susie. I knew he wasn't close to his stepdad, but I hadn't known how bad it was with the real one. He'd had men around for most of his life; he never really had a father.

I lay under my comforter with Susie snuggled up against my back, thinking about how lucky I was. I had two parents who loved me. I had a sister I didn't respect in a lot of ways who was always trash talking me, but we still got along together for the most part. I think a lot of her trash talk was an attempt to justify her actions to herself.

Tiffany wasn't in a very Christmassy mood this year. She'd had plans to take off the 26th and go skiing for a week. Of course, the real plan included drinking, pot and nonstop sex with as many guys as she could entice into her bed. And if there was one thing my sister was an expert at, it was enticing.

Tiff wasn't going on the ski trip. Just like at Halloween, her stupidity had caused her to be grounded. It wasn't grades this time, it was panties or lack thereof. Or at least, that's what started it. That same game where we found out about Susie, her sister Vicky had come up with an idea to reward the football team. If they were at least a couple of touchdowns ahead at halftime, the cheerleaders would do the whole second half bare ass. Well, the team did their part and the cheerleaders did theirs. Somehow, the "secret" was out and most of the fans on our side of the field had binoculars. There was also a preponderance of video cams, not to mention people taking pictures with their cell phones. It was definitely a second half to remember.

Now, it wasn't like all the players on the team hadn't seen it all before, up close and personal. I guess it had something to do with the environment, the presentation. And the fact that men are pigs. Don't get me wrong, I love men, but they do tend to think with the lower part of their anatomy when you put a naked female in front of them. Which is something I've taken advantage of with Dougie on several occasions, so I'm not complaining. The game looked like something out of the Keystone Cops. The other team's coach reamed them a new asshole as soon as they switched sides, and they pulled way ahead of ours. It would have been just another fun story if Dougie's brother hadn't messed up his knee because his attention was on the girls instead of his game.

The whole cheer squad had been suspended for the week following Thanksgiving, but they'd been required to report to the vice principal and had been given jobs to do during normal school hours. There were lots of leaves picked up, a whole lot of weeding done and the outside of the auditorium got a new coat of paint. They even had to go in on the Saturday because the painting wasn't finished by Friday. A lot of cheerleaders were complaining about sore muscles and the condition of their nails by the time the week was over.

Tiffany figured that was it. My parents had a different idea. Mom told her that no daughter of hers was going to act like a slut and grounded her for the week she was suspended as well as the following week. Of course, Mom had no idea what a slut her daughter really was.

Tiffany, being Tiffany, figured she could get away with sneaking out while Mom and Dad were both at work. Of course, Mom and Dad were both expecting something like that, and had a couple of the neighbors acting as spies. Both times, Mom was sitting on the couch in the living room when Tiff got back home, confident she'd put one over on her clueless parents.

The first time, the Tuesday in the second week, the grounding was extended for two more weeks and she was told things wouldn't go so easy if there was a next time. The second time, this last Thursday, Mom said something I'd never heard her say before. She said, "Wait until your father gets home."

Mom and Tiffany sat in the living room, waiting for him. I'm sure Tiffany wasn't worried. I call him Dad. He's always been Daddy to her. She has the poor guy wrapped around her little finger, and all she has to say is "Daaa-deee" and he does whatever she wants. If I didn't know better, I'd think she was giving him some on the side. But my father's not like that, and besides, it's been that way with her and him since she could talk.

OK, I'll admit it. I was a bad little girl. I stood in the hallway, back where I figured no one could see me, and watched it all happen. Dad came into the kitchen from the garage, put his keys on the hook near the door and went into the living room. Mom stood up and they kissed. Not quite a drag me to bed and ravish me now kiss, but not that far from it, either. I know Mom didn't call him after Tiff came back home, so they must have talked before. It was obvious he wasn't walking into this situation blind.

The two of them sat down on the couch and Dad asked Mom "What's up?"

"Your daughter has something to tell you."

He turned and looked at Tiffany. I watched him for at least twenty minutes. Throughout that time, he never moved. He never said a word. I didn't even see him breathe, but I'm pretty sure he must have.

Tiffany started telling him how she just had to go out to a friend's house, trying to convince him that she didn't think that an emergency like that was covered in her grounding. Now, I couldn't see his face, but he had to be staring right at her. She started to squirm a bit, then her story changed a little. She tried to bargain, admitting maybe she shouldn't have left but she was willing to add another two days to her grounding to make up for it, conceding that that was more than fair. No acknowledgment, more staring. Tiffany finally got the whole story out (not mentioning what she really did while she was gone, of course) and pretty much admitted she had disobeyed them. By the time she was through, she was crying and twisting her hands together.