The Weight of Words

Many families have Christmas traditions. Some families open presents on Christmas Eve. Some wait until morning. In our family, Santa always made late-night deliveries, so we'd awake to find heretofore unseen treasures on Christmas morn. But on Christmas Eve, my parents would always allow my sisters and me to open one present. It was the best part of the night, after delicious dinner and before boring church. Of course I'd have already picked out the "best" present to unwrap hours before. I'd use a very scientific method: whichever one was the heaviest.

One year a mysterious box appeared early in the evening. And even though for the entire month of December I had been ever-so-attentive to the quantity of presents always present (as any 10-year-old worth his/her suburban salt would be), suddenly, there it was. Beaming beneath the lighted tree. So just as the Aunts and Uncles, in their church clothes with their polite gifts, arrived and embraced Mom & Dad, I seized my opportunity...

...I picked up the box and shook it!

THUMP! THUMP!!THUMP!!! :::GASP:::

It's from my parents...

It's got to be that game console!

Then, as quickly as I had grabbed it, I shoved the present back under the tree, just in time to greet the arriving family members without arousing suspicion. Just act normal. Just be cool. Calm. Collected.

That seemed impossible now.

I didn't even hear what Aunt Barbara and Uncle Jay said as they squeezed the Merry Christmas out of me. I'm quite sure it was something about how handsome I was/How much I'd grown/How they remembered when I... blah, blah, blah, blah, blah... I didn't care. All I could think about was that present! Then Grandma and Grandpa arrived, and the whole ritual repeated all over again. "Look how handsome you are/How much you've grown/I remember when you..." This was torture! And just when I thought Greetings of Yuletide Cheer were complete, my Oma and Opa opened the door, and we were back on the “Merry Christmas”-Go-Round! It would be another 53 minutes and 13 seconds before I FINALLY got to hug the only thing I really cared about at that point... My Precious!

Dinner was a blur. I was completely obsessed with opening that present. I think somebody said grace, but I was pretend praying, eyes closed only to cover my covetous thoughts. Why should I pray? My prayers had already been answered. Obviously, I ate my vegetables--anything to please my Suddenly-Saintly Parents--they didn't even have to ask. I said, "Please," and "Thank you," and sat still even though I was feeling antsy. My TREASURE! We were all going to church at midnight, so we didn't want to get too full and fall asleep. But I would never fall asleep. I was too amped! I just wanted to rip into that present right then and there, skip church, and play with my game all night till the first light of Christmas day! Me and Santa, battling head-to-head, Mom serving us muffins in the morning...

BEST. CHRISTMAS. EVER.

And maybe it was. After all, I still have what I got from Mom & Dad that night. And I still use it all the time.

But I didn't think so when I finally tore into it after dinner. I was crestfallen. I thought my parents had tricked me.

Later, as I sat in that painful pew at Midnight Mass, paying little heed to the impending Birth of Our Baby Savior, I prayed that tomorrow would FINALLY be The Big Day for me. Prayed for Christmas Day Redemption. Prayed to turn water into wine... to transform that Dumb Ol' Deceptively Heavy Dictionary into my INCREDIBLY VICIOUS VIDEO GAME! Please, God? PLEASE!? PLEASE!! PLEeeeezzzzzzzzzz... I prayed so hard I finally fell asleep on my mother's shoulder, my sleepy saliva, like translucent tinsel decorating our Christmas sweaters. At least I would provide the Preacher some Sunday morning sermon material for the following week (Typically, the least-attended Sunday of the year, so the "We're-all-children-of-God-resting-on-His-shoulders" fluff sermon wasn't heard by many besides my family and me). I guess in my passionate pleading to The Almighty to RECEIVE, I ended up GIVING after all.

And isn't that what Christmas should be about?

Ultimately, I had no need for divine intervention beyond being lucky enough to be born with wonderful parents who spoiled me on Christmas. But ask me if I still have that Awesome, Most-Viciously Gnarly Video Game… Nope. I outgrew it by the 9th grade. But that Dumb Ol' Dictionary helped me all through Middle & High School, College and Graduate School, and I couldn't have made it (or this) without it!