Template:Adminpick/December 2018

I don’t hide the fact that I hate Christmas. Call me a proverbial Scrooge, insult me to no end, but every year I feel a dread greater than anyone who hates the holiday season could ever claim.

If you know me personally, you’d assume it’s because of my younger brother’s disappearance, and you’d be right for the most part. It happened one Christmas morning when by all rights, the two of us should have been sitting by our tree opening presents and making treasured childhood memories. Instead I was treated with a day of police frantically searching our house and neighborhood while questioning my distraught parents.

They questioned me too of course, but as a ten year old girl I didn’t have much to say. I told them that he and I had gone to bed, excited for what the next day had in store for us, and that was the last I saw of him. He just never came down to open his gifts, and that’s when my mother discovered his room was empty. (Read more...)