Christmas was supposed to be perfect.
That’s what everyone said, at least. Perfect food, perfect mood, perfect family photos.
But on Christmas Eve, nothing about it was perfect.
The turkey was too dry. The living room smelled slightly burnt because someone forgot the cookies in the oven. And half the family was already annoyed before dinner even started.
Grandma complained about the cold. Uncle Mark complained about the government. My little cousin complained that his present was the wrong color.
At some point, the power went out.
No lights. No TV. No music. Just silence.
For a moment, everyone froze. Then someone sighed dramatically and said,
“Of course. This would happen today.”
We lit a few candles. Someone found a flashlight. Dinner was suddenly delayed, and there was nothing to do except… talk.
At first, it was awkward.
Then funny.
Grandma started telling stories from when she was young, when Christmas meant sharing one orange between five siblings. Uncle Mark laughed about how he once bought a gift for his wife and forgot to remove the price tag. My cousin admitted he actually liked his present, just not the color.
We laughed. A lot.
No phones. No distractions. Just people being real.
When the power finally came back on, no one rushed to turn the TV on. The food was cold, the tree was crooked, and the evening was far from perfect.
But it was warm.
Later that night, as we cleaned up together, someone said,
“This was actually… nice.”
And that’s when it hit me:
Christmas isn’t about everything going right.
It’s about sitting together when things go wrong and still feeling like you belong.
iD : Sambou
