My Holiday
My Holiday
By:Russel 10 A
How I spent my December holiday,let me tell a story about my December holidays during the school break.
When I was a young boy, I lived in a hot, tropical country wherein the temperature in the month of December could get only as low as 77 degrees Fahrenheit. Needless to say that even in the coldest night of the year, a snowball would melt and evaporate long before you could finish humming a few bars of “Silent Night.”
Ever since I fell in love with Hans Christian Andersen’s tale of “The Snow Queen,” I had never desired anything more in my life than to hold a snowball and admire its untarnished purity on the palm of my hand. “Is there anything else that you want us to bring back as your present, except for that?” my mom would ask. My parents were flying abroad to visit my aunt and uncle in the States. It was already too expensive for them to travel there on their own after converting the peso to the equivalent American dollar.
I was in tears. I didn’t ask for an expensive toy this time. In fact, I didn’t even want another toy! I had enough Matchbox mini-cars lined up on my bedroom shelves; and on the floor, both of my Apollo rockets and eye-blazing, spark-spitting robots were hopelessly scattered in pieces around the train set that I received (and played with only once) from last Christmas.
But this year was supposed to be special! I held a wrinkled, brightly colored Christmas card in my left hand with its tear-stained portrait of a blue starry sky overlooking a field thickly covered in snow. Smack in the middle of the portrait were three kids wearing bright red, orange and blue ski suits and slinging a handful of snowballs at each other. Off to the right near the edge of the picture was a small mound of snow on top of which a little smiling boy lay on a toboggan ready to push himself down the makeshift hill.
In the background, a corpulent snowman with a carrot nose gleefully stood in front of a cottage with smoke curling
By:Russel 10 A
How I spent my December holiday,let me tell a story about my December holidays during the school break.
When I was a young boy, I lived in a hot, tropical country wherein the temperature in the month of December could get only as low as 77 degrees Fahrenheit. Needless to say that even in the coldest night of the year, a snowball would melt and evaporate long before you could finish humming a few bars of “Silent Night.”
Ever since I fell in love with Hans Christian Andersen’s tale of “The Snow Queen,” I had never desired anything more in my life than to hold a snowball and admire its untarnished purity on the palm of my hand. “Is there anything else that you want us to bring back as your present, except for that?” my mom would ask. My parents were flying abroad to visit my aunt and uncle in the States. It was already too expensive for them to travel there on their own after converting the peso to the equivalent American dollar.
I was in tears. I didn’t ask for an expensive toy this time. In fact, I didn’t even want another toy! I had enough Matchbox mini-cars lined up on my bedroom shelves; and on the floor, both of my Apollo rockets and eye-blazing, spark-spitting robots were hopelessly scattered in pieces around the train set that I received (and played with only once) from last Christmas.
But this year was supposed to be special! I held a wrinkled, brightly colored Christmas card in my left hand with its tear-stained portrait of a blue starry sky overlooking a field thickly covered in snow. Smack in the middle of the portrait were three kids wearing bright red, orange and blue ski suits and slinging a handful of snowballs at each other. Off to the right near the edge of the picture was a small mound of snow on top of which a little smiling boy lay on a toboggan ready to push himself down the makeshift hill.
In the background, a corpulent snowman with a carrot nose gleefully stood in front of a cottage with smoke curling