Michiganders Post is proud to announce the winner of our A Dickens Christmas Contest. And the winner is… drum roll please… beh-deh-deh-deh-deh-deh:
Stephanie Wildey from Grand Rapids!
We want to thank everyone who participated. In particular, we want to mention the following outstanding entries (in alphabetical order by last name):
- Tim Kipp from all over The Mitten
- Jeff Rice from Sterling Heights
- Noelle Sciarini from Ann Arbor
And what, pray tell, has Stephanie won?
- A certificate certifying her certified win;
- A no-longer-in-print, collectable, Borders edition of Great Expectations by Charles Dickens; AND
- A good-anytime offer to have her resume and cover letter reviewed and proofread by our very own Senior Editor, Brandon James Anderson, for her next job application.
Without further adieu…
The Best of Christmas, the Worst of Christmas
by Stephanie Wildey
It was the best of Christmas, it was the worst of Christmas. Off in the distance was a small farm house. Little Henry and his brother Harold played a game of checkers while their mother baked springerles and their father dozed off in the arm chair while reading an inherited copy of yesterday’s newspaper. Their mother urged them softly to get ready for bed. They hurried off as they were anxiously awaiting the arrival of Sinterklaas. They were well aware of the fact that Sinterklaas would have a gift for them, and they took great delight in the mere thought.
In another time and another place, in an oversized house, in an overpopulated suburb, three children played riotously. They argued over whose toy belonged to whom and whose turn it was to play the video game on the television. Their parents fought over who was to wrap the presents and who was to clean the house for the company that was coming the next day. The parents tried, one at a time and then both in sync, yelling and urging the children off to their bedrooms. Threats that Santa would bring them coal were slewed about as the children continued to argue with one another as they stormed off to their rooms.
As Henry and Harold slept, their mother lovingly placed a single orange in the toe of each stocking. An orange for each member of the family was a special treat, and the only gift the family could afford. It was a staple in the family’s Christmas tradition and something that Henry and Harold looked forward to with great joy and would continue as they became patriarchs of their own families.
As the three children in the oversized house slept with their televisions still glowing over their beds, their parents continued cleaning the house and placed perfectly wrapped toys and electronic devices under the Christmas tree, forming a beautiful display similar to a Macy’s window.
Henry and Harold awoke at the crack of dawn. They sprang out of the twin bed they shared and ran to the fireplace where their father poked at a crackling log. Once their mother had joined them in the living room, Henry and Harold opened their stockings together and shouted for joy at the sight of the orange. The family spent the entire day together, playing simple games, telling stories, and singing carols.
In suburbia, the three children ran down the stairs, tripping over one another as they shoved their way through to the Christmas tree. They shouted for their parents and began ripping apart their gifts all at once. Shouts of happiness turned to shouts for batteries. No thanks were given as the children ran off to the solitude of their bedrooms where they slammed their doors to play games on their tablets. The perfect display became a heap of crinkled wrapping paper tossed about.
It was the best of Christmas, it was the worst of Christmas.