My parents always took us to see the Christmas lights. A lot of folks in our neighborhood put up hundreds of twinkling lights. My parents always lined the roof with icicle lights. I loved riding around in the truck, with the windows down and the Christmas music on. I remember one year in particular, because my parents didn’t want to go. The heater in the car wasn’t working, and my parents were worried it was too cold. There was a foot of snow on the ground, and the temperatures outside were in the single-digit range. We wanted to go look at the lights, and we didn’t care if the heater was working or not. We persisted until Mom and Dad finally caved in and took us out in the cold. My parents bundled us up in a heavy pair of pajamas. They gave us extra blankets and a big hot cup of cocoa. Even though the heater didn’t work, we drove around and looked at Christmas lights. It was cold outside and the heater didn’t work, but we were still happy as can be. My parents took us to see lights every year, but this is the one memory that really sticks out in my mind. I don’t know if it’s because the heater wasn’t working, or because my parents tried so hard to make us happy. Either way, it was the winter holidays and my siblings and I were just happy to share that time with Mom and Dad. I still carry that same tradition with my own kids. We drive around and look at lights each season.