A Christmas Story

The anticipation and surprises surrounding Christmas are part of what makes it so special.

It was mid-November, 1960. I was a big-eyed, hopeful 9-year-old. My working mother conducted her Christmas shopping early that year. Knowing this, I seized the opportunity to sneak upstairs into my parents' walk-in closet one day after school and get a preview.

I surreptitiously opened the heavy door, leaving just enough space for my slight frame to pass. With the first step, my heart pounded. But with each calculated advance, I became less frightened despite the spooky creaking of floorboards in our old Victorian home. Meticulously, I searched. Nothing behind the sweaters. Summer clothes were in the boxes. Hand-me-downs from my older sister were in the round storage bin. Nothing. I moved deeper where the stinging aroma of moth balls released with every motion. At the very back, I hit pay dirt!

In oversized department store bags, there were stuffed animals and toys for my 2-year-old sister. The sweater with matching poodle skirt and 45 rpm records meant my older sister would have a merry Christmas. An electric gizmo, model airplane and brainteaser game rounded out my brother's holiday.

The last bag contained my booty. A diary with a lock! A big jewelry box that played music when I opened the lid! A large box of three-dimensional paper dolls made of lightweight plastic instead of flimsy paper - an entire family, complete with seasonal wardrobes and accessories! I had never seen such an exquisite display! I quickly hid any evidence of my snooping and scampered out of the closet, never to be found out.

When the big day finally arrived I felt smug, for I knew everyone's presents before they did. However, as each gift was unwrapped, I felt a deepening sense of disappointment. Where were the surprises? Didn't we get anything else? Knowing what was in the boxes wasn't any fun at all! I filled with gloom as I realized the consequences of my actions! My mother sensed this and asked if I liked my gifts. I answered honestly that I did, but I'm not sure she believed me.

When I finally confessed to her over a quarter of a century later, she didn't recall the Christmas. I recalled it, though. Vividly. And never again did I peek.

Although I am now old enough to be a grandmother, I still do not peek. I refuse to shake, will never guess, won't sniff, pummel or prod. I take each gift and tear into the wrapping with all the anticipation of that little nine-year-old from so many Christmas's ago. And now I savor the surprises and take delight in not knowing until they are unveiled!

Published in the George Fox University Toastmasters Newsletter, Nov., 2002

The above picture was taken of Diana in 1961, when she was 10 years old.

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