Apples or Onions

Jigina was standing under the mistletoe. She was alone, and she was crying.

"Jigina? Where are you?"

She wiped her tears away hastily. Didn't do, to let her mother see her cry.

"Jigina? I need you to cut the fruits, to decorate the Christmas thalis

Large Indian plates, usually made of metal (sometimes even silver)

."

"Yes, Ma!" Jigina was soon hard at work.

"Those are apples you are cutting, not onions." Her father's voice startled her. "Why the tears?"

Before she knew it, she was pouring her heart out to her Dad. How all her friends had someone to kiss, under the mistletoe, except her. How she had turned down some of the cute boys who had asked her out, and how she was regretting it now. How she worried that she would be an old maid, while all her friends married and raised families.

Her father held her close. When she had finished speaking, he said, "It's my turn to talk now. You have talked about regretting the past and fearing the future. Wait until you see your present. Let me show it to you. Close your eyes."

She closed her eyes, still hugging her Dad.

Very deliberately, he began to speak. She breathed in and out slowly, meditating on his words. "You, Jigina, just won the best-project award in your college. You're currently captain of the women's hockey team for the state, and your team is in the semi-finals. You have a group of friends who helped out when your Mom was unwell, and who gave you a surprise birthday party ..."

For five minutes, her father spoke, giving her the biggest gift -- her present. Regrets of the past and fears of the future melted away.

"Thank you, Dad," she whispered.