Christmas Miracles Chaos I learned the importance of being invisible when I was ten. It was Christmas Eve, and, just like every Christmas Eve, we made the ¼ mile trip down the road to my grandma and grandpa’s house. Both sides of my family subscribed to the family compound philosophy (aka: they all lived within ½ mile of each other); consequently, all of my mom’s family members were crammed into this small house. While my grandparents were alive, we thrived on tradition. I never questioned what would happen on a holiday because we had a set plan for each of them. And our Christmas Eve tradition was to go to my Grandma and Grandpa O’Dell’s house with my aunt, her kids, and their kids. We would eat, someone would read the Christmas story, one of the men would disappear, Santa would show up, the kids would be scarred, the female adults would be embarrassed, gifts would be distributed and opened, and then we would go home. This went down like clockwor...