Even though we didn't have much money for Christmas, my brothers and I never noticed. We got new things, and what they were wasn't our first concern. We were just happy to have presents under the tree.
After my parent's divorce, mom was the one that put them under the tree, for the most part. Dad would drop by with some little gift (which we always welcomed), wheedle out some of our Christmas dinner, then leave.
Usually, it was fairly normal.
And then we had the time Dad came barreling through our door, covered in leaves and dirt and snow with a crazed look in his eyes and 12-pack of Dad's Root Beer in his hand. He dropped it beside Elijah, said "Don't ask me where I got it," and sprinted back out the door without even trying to get some dinner.
He still refuses to talk about the whole thing. Whenever it comes up, he shakes his head and won't speak. We generally have some sort of theory in regards to his past, but this is one of the few that we honestly have no clue about.
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