
Christmas was always such a magical time when I was growing up. It was one of the only times I could put my disability aside and just be a kid. Every year, we’d pile in the car a few days before Christmas and begin the 1,000-mile journey to the Deep South. Eventually, probably somewhere just passed Indianapolis, my mother would burst into song; she was fond of Dixie — go figure — and her mini concert got my sister and me so excited about getting to Alabama and spending the holidays with my grandparents. I’ve always thought of Fairhope, Alabama (the town where they retired; have you ever been there?) as my second home…



By the time the week was over, I never wanted to go home. What were your childhood Christmases like, friends? Did you travel far for the holidays or stay pretty close to home? I’d love for you to share your story in the comments! xoxo
Annie Dog says
I love this post! And… that park, in the picture of you with your grandma… does that happen to be in Florida? Sarasota/Turtle Beach area? My grandparents lived there and used to take my sister and me to that park, and it was undoubtedly the BEST PARK IN THE WORLD.
Merry Christmas Melissa, thank you for your frank, brave, and honest posts.
Lindsey