For the entirety of my life, I have lived in the same house and celebrated every holiday identically. No matter the occasion, every single one has started and ended the same exact way. Christmas was no exception. As the dew turned to frost on a late December morning, my sister and I would jump awake and burst into our parent's room with the hope of opening presents before the sun rose. When I was informed by my older sister amid an argument that Santa was in fact not real, the magic died and so did our Christmas traditions. To atone for my sad realization, my family planned a trip to Morocco, Spain for 2018 during the week of Christmas. Sure, leaving behind the only Christmas traditions I knew came with its own bittersweet feelings, but I was truthfully beyond excited. By the time December came around, I was already packed and ready for my first time venturing outside of the United States. I had done endless research on the hotels we were staying in, the restaurants we would be eating at, and every detail to ensure it was universally a great experience. 

The day before Christmas Eve, my family's excitement met mine as we drove into the long-stay parking lot of the Charlotte Douglas Airport. We had three flights with limited layovers in between them to make that day, so my mother was naturally stressed. From Charlotte to New York, New York to Morocco. Airport security was naturally chaotic as one could only assume it would be a few days before Christmas. Every person has glints of anger in their eyes about timelines they had to meet or lines they were forced to wait in. Luckily, my mom had splurged on what could only be described as the airport version of amusement park fast passes. In simple terms, this meant our family got cursed out and given death glances as we waltzed past waves of hour-long lines. If you think security was the worst of our worries, you have never been to the Charlotte Douglas Airport before. With 1.8 million square feet, it was nearly impossible to get from one side of the airport to the other within a reasonable amount of time. With 26 restaurants, 18 stores, and lots of unnecessary tunnels and confusing dead ends, it didn't take long for my family to get embarrassingly lost. After we found ourselves in E18 when we were supposed to be in B23 my dad resorted to asking a stranger who looked comfortable with their surroundings about our best plan of action. When our new-found friend asked where we were from, my dad responded sharply with “Brunswick, Georgia” due to the fact he was too embarrassed to admit he had misled his entire family in the airport he had grown up going to. 

After getting lost one last time, despite someone giving us directions, it was finally time to start boarding. I dread plane rides, mostly because I have fully convinced myself that anytime I get on one, it is bound to lose an engine. But, considering it was now 7 PM and I had taken 3 Advil PMs before the plane ride, I was unconscious for the majority of my ride. By the time we arrived, it was around 9 and I was more energetic than ever. The flight to Morocco was scheduled to leave at 10 so headed straight to our gate to board. After about an hour of sitting in our seats without taking off, all the passengers' suspicions grew. The intercom lit up and announced that our plane was in no condition to be flying and we would have to get off and unload our bags to board a new plane. The problem with this, besides the fact it was the night before Christmas Eve, is that no planes are allowed to take off in New York after 12. We had little hope about getting a new plane, boarding passengers, and loading everyone's luggage all before midnight, but we stayed for yet another hour until they announced that we could not take off tonight and the next plane to Morocco would be on the 29th of December. Somehow, during the hour we waited on the plane, everyone's luggage had gotten lost and no one would be able to get it until it was sorted with the other lost luggage. 

It was now 1 AM and we were stuck in New York with no hotel room, no clothes besides the ones we were wearing, and no transportation all in 20-degree weather. We tried desperately to get any hotel room we could find but the only one available was Called Hotel 69 right off the highway. Delusional, my parents didn't see the obvious problem with this and we got a taxi straight there. When we arrived a homeless man greeted us just outside, puffing long chains of smoke directly into our faces. Once we were inside, we saw a couple in a similar situation to us who told us that this was no place to bring children. While we discretely tried to book another room in the lobby of Hotel 69, two police officers rushed inside past us and jumped into the elevator. We all shared concerned glances and mutually decided anywhere we were better than here. We took a taxi near a couple of different hotels and tried to see if there was any availability. After striking out at two hotels that shared sympathy for us, but ultimately didn't have any room to spare we were getting hopeless. Not far ahead, there was a glistening neon light. 

Dear Reader, let us pause here: 

There is now a young family with two girls under 15, all walking along the New York City streets at 3:00. They are surrounded by strange homeless people and drunk 20-year-olds and don't seem to have a care in the world. You can see their eyes light up as they catch a glimpse of  a neon glow ahead advertising hot dogs. Their speed walking progressed to the aforementioned food truck that serves hot dogs and hot dogs only. Usually, when a restaurant serves one food, it means it has been perfected to a tee. In New York, a food truck serving only one food means there is only room for one aggressive and obese middle-aged New Yorker and their hot dog ingredients. 

Let's get back to the story: 

My dad ordered three hot dogs while the rest of us ordered one and we sat in the outdoor seating section of a closed restaurant. Just as my dad had downed his first hot dog, my mom had pulled up her trusty friend, Yelp. There were over 6,000 reviews of Hotel 69, all with below three stars. The first review gave one star and read as follows:

Police/ Bedbugs / Drugs - Avoid Avoid Avoid 

“Upon initial entry to the room, it seemed fine. No blood anywhere. Upon returning to the hotel after finding somewhere to eat, outside were several police cars and eight police officers. When asked if it was safe to go in, he told us (two males) that in his opinion the hotel was not safe and neither was the area. We were only there one night so we boarded the door. The hotel contains several young adults in the rooms paid for by the local council (perhaps a halfway house) - this could explain the drugs and noise in previous reviews …

We sat for thirty minutes reading review after review of horrible incidents occurring in Hotel 69. Every single review we read brought our moods up more and more as we would bend over and cry with laughter. This drained even more of our energy, if it was possible and we mutually decided we desperately needed a room, and fast. 

The final hotel we decided to call that night became our Christmas miracle.  It was as if an angel floated down from the overhead clouds and came before us. They had a two-bed suite left that was available for one night only. My mom's immediate reaction was to burst into tears while my dad on the other hand couldn't have been moving faster if he tried. My dad flagged down the first taxi that came towards us and we sped off to our oasis. Our five-minute drive had cost us 50 dollars but my parents didn't seem to care. We all were drowsy and delusional but somehow made it up to our room without falling asleep on the elevator or on top of the check-in desk. The rest of my night was a complete blur. I woke up at 1:00 PM sharp to the slight of my mother asleep on top of her carry-on bag, my dad practically unconscious on the foot of the bed with no blanket or pillows, and my sister bundled up in the neighboring bed. Truthfully, we looked like a mess. Our first stop of the day was Starbucks, where we were all allowed to get caffeinated drinks, which was very rare in our household. 

After my parents decided the best thing to do would be to stay in New York and make the best out of our situation, we had a new problem on our hands. We had no clothes, extra shoes or socks, toothpaste or face wash, etc. To be able to survive in New York's frigid temperatures we would need a serious expansion in clothing. The next couple hours of our day floated away as we purchased more than enough clothing for the next week. My mother bought tickets to see the Rockettes, booked an abundance of restaurant reservations, and most importantly, got us a great hotel room that would be able to accommodate our family size and did not have 69 in the title. To this day I still remember it as one of my best Christmas’ ever, but not because of those amazing restaurant reservations or the Rockettes tickets 

A trip that was seemingly a disaster to my parents was one of my most coveted memories as a kid. It never mattered to me that we didn't make it to Morocco, despite my obsession with wanting to travel to a different country. I was perfectly content with the family chaos because we were now bonded by our lost luggage, food truck hot dogs, our short stay at Hotel 69, and our new wardrobes. We did eventually get our suitcases back, last February,  four years later. Opening up the stuffed bags full of tropical clothing reminded me of not only the waves of emotion that our family experienced but also what it is like as a child when you always see the best in situations. If this had happened to me more recently I would have been a lot more concerned about what we would do next. But as a 10-year-old, sitting in the outdoor dining section of a random restaurant in New York, at 3 AM eating terrible hot dogs, was all I needed to feel like I was part of the most loving and caring family.