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We call him the Christmas Boy because he came to us on that merry holiday, six days after he was born. Soon after, the heavens surprised me again. Soon, we had two children of our own—not as many as we had hoped, but they were a small group compared to my childhood alone.

As our Christmas boy grows up, this imp always claims that only he has the right to choose and decorate the annual Christmas tree. He was always busy early, and even before we finished eating our Thanksgiving turkey, he was already making a list of gifts. He asked us to sing Christmas carols with him, and our voices were like frogs in comparison to his gifted perfect pitch.

Every holiday, he will encourage and lead us to a happy and chaotic time.

It wasn't until his twenty-sixth Christmas that he left us unexpectedly, just as he came to us unexpectedly. As he drove down the icy streets of Denver, about to go home to see his young wife and newborn daughter, he was in a car accident. However, before that, he came to my house to decorate the Christmas tree for us, fulfilling the old rules that he never gave up.

We say he's our Christmas boy because he came to us during that merry season, when he was just six days old. Once again, however, nature surprised us. In quick succession, we added two more biological children, which were not as good as we would have liked, but created a satisfying sense of crowding compared to my peaceful childhood.

When our Christmas boy grows up, he discovers that he is the only one who can choose and decorate the Christmas tree with an expert eye every year. He had to start preparing his gift list before we could get the Thanksgiving turkey ready. He forced us to sing carols, and our croaking version of our voice contrasted with his talented, perfect high note.

Every holiday he inspires us and takes us on a journey through happy chaos.

Then, on his twenty-sixth Christmas, he left us without warning, just as he had come. He died in a car accident on an icy street in Denver as he prepared to return home to see his young wife and young daughter. However, he had already come to our house to decorate the Christmas tree for us, a ritual he had never abandoned.

We call him our Christmas boy because he came to you in this joyous season, when he was just six days old and old. And then we were taken aback. Naturally we added two biological families of children in quick succession – not like many we had hoped, but three made a not entirely satisfying crowd than my quiet childhood.

As our Christmas boy grows up, he makes it clear that only he has the expertise to choose and decorate the Christmas tree every year. He put the seasons and began to make a list of gifts, and we hadn't finished enjoying the turkey for Thanksgiving. He asked us to sing carols, our frog-like voice with his ** talent for the perfect pitch.

Every festival he touched us and led us through a circle of joyful chaos.

Then, on his 26th Christmas, he left us and he turned out to have come. He died in a car accident on icy Denver Street, on his way home, his young wife and baby daughter. But first of all, he has stopped decorating our tree by the family, a ritual that he never gave up.

Translation: Fan Zhongyan's father died when he was two years old. Her mother was very poor and had no support, so she remarried to the Zhu family in Changshan to learn classical Chinese, focusing on the pronunciation of classical Chinese, sentence breaks, understanding of sentence meanings, and memorization of exquisite passages.

Arise, you who do not want to be slaves! Build our flesh and blood into our new Great Wall! The Chinese nation has reached the most dangerous time, and everyone is forced to let out the last roar ......

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