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Every year at the end of the semester, the professor that I worked for would read "A Christmas Memory." When he would get to the last two pages, he would hand it over to me to finish because he didn't want to start crying in front of the class. I made it a tradition to read in my house each year, but now, I can't read it aloud any more either. I do have to correct you on a couple of details, though. This story is not about his grandmother. It's about a distant cousin on his mother's side of the family. And it's not a balloon, but a kite. They make kites together to fly, and that is the final image.