Another Christmas had come and gone. Seated in the living room in front of his television, Jimmy Stevenson was disheartened. Christmas evening was almost always one of the most depressing moments of the year. He hated the idea of a holiday going away as soon as it came.
He gook a sip of his coffee and stared at the television blankly, watching a score of repeating holiday commercials. He always felt like yelling at the television for still showing those tacky Christmas commercials despite the fact that the holiday was coming to a close. He flipped through the channels and found a rerun of one of the football games from earlier in the week.
Jimmy lived in the house that had belonged to his parents. He was only seventeen when they died tragically in a car accident, but they had already written out their will by then, leaving their house to him, their only son.
He always kept the house clean, knowing that his mother would want it that way. He even set out the same Christmas decorations every year for old time's sakes.
His wife Katherine was very understanding about all this, for she, too, had lost her mother at a young age. She helped Jimmy with everything that he wanted to do in memory of his parents. She kept the crucifix above the fireplace gleaming, as Jimmy's father had always done. She would listen to the same story ever year, the one where Jimmy recalled how his father had dressed up as Santa Claus one year to tell the manger story. Katherine would sit with Jimmy to watch the same old television shows that Jimmy had watched with his parents as a child. It was tradition, Jimmy would explain, looking a little embarrassed, but Katherine had never asked...