My Christmas Tree

Last night, when I asked Dad if he would get better after surgery, he simply smiled. He either felt too exhausted or just didn’t have an answer.

That’s okay. 

Because I think adults are most honest when they don’t say anything. There are things in the world that they can’t explain, and that’s all right too. Kids like me knew this by the time we entered first grade. You don’t have to be all-knowing to do your best.

Dad’s surgery was to be over by the time school finished. Till then, I had to do my best.

“Today, we are going to draw a Christmas tree,” our teacher said.

We were given a sheet each with the shape of a tree already on it. We could fill it with colors of our choosing.

I chose the pink crayon and filled the frame before adding red. Then, I used pink to blend everything to make the red look bushy, like Dad had taught me. Adding one layer at a time made your drawing more realistic. I then embellished the tree by adding silver balls, using grey crayons. And finally, I put a golden star on top, radiant like the sun.

Mom came to pick me up after school. “Your dad, he’s okay,” she said through tears.

Later, when Dad woke up on the hospital bed, his smile no longer looked exhausted. “I want to thank you,” he said to me. “Earlier, I dreamed of being lost in the dark, until I came across a tree that was pink from top to bottom. You were there, too. That’s how I found my way back. Thank you, Kanako, for your Christmas tree.”

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