BLOGMAS #3: FIRST CHRISTMAS MEMORY
While I have fuzzy memories or earlier Christmas, I'm going to focus on one of the most vivid and hilarious Christmas memories of my childhood.
The One Where I Unwrapped and Rewrapped All My Presents
I nine years old, and I had the house all to myself. This wasn't abnormal, as I walked home after school and arrived an hour or so before my step-dad most days. I was a trustworthy kid, at least at that age; my mom had no reason to believe that I would dip into the liquor cabinet or swipe cigarettes. But one thing was just too damn tempting: underneath our newly decorated Christmas tree, a pile of wrapped presents gleamed.
Now, you have to understand that I wasn't so much drawn to the shiny paper out of greed; I have never been overly excited about presents. Rather, I cannot resist my own curiosity. That's right - the same trait that drove me to teaching also beckoned me to the Christmas tree.
I started innocently enough, turning each present over in my hands, gauging its heft, and shaking the contents to check for fragility (in hindsight, this is the most asinine practice since you almost guarantee that you'll break something). Alas, I learned nothing from my efforts. The packages were all roughly the same weight, and they were all packed too tightly for the contents to shift.
As is the case for most young kids, I thought I was sneaky. So, I hatched my plan: one by one, I would carry the presents to my room, unwrap them, assess their treasure, rewrap them, and return them to the tree. If I had only one present in my room at any given time, the surprise return of my stepdad wouldn't be disastrous. Surely he wouldn't notice a single present missing, and I could return it when he stepped outside to smoke. My plan was fail-proof.
My stepdad didn't get home early, which meant that I had time to unwrap all the presents. I was less than thrilled to find that, for Christmas, I would receive a bath robe, socks, and underwear. What kid got clothing, and the most boring clothing at that, for Christmas? Cue the ungrateful brat.
In my angst, I rewrapped the presents, returning each one in a sprint just in case I hadn't heard the garage door open. Having inspected everything, I retreated to my room and pouted. Bad idea. I should have stayed in the living room and distracted my mother when she got home. Instead, I was quiet and hunkered away, both of which made her suspicious.
Lo and behold, she checked the presents.
"KYLE!"
Oops.
In the living room, she pointed to my poor wrapping abilities as evidence that I had, in fact, opened the presents. I denied it vehemently. And of course, she wasn't having any of it. She even threatened to take the presents back, which didn't upset me as much as she hoped (was I supposed to be excited about underwear?). So, instead of returning the presents I'd opened, she returned all the freaking toys she hadn't had a chance to put under the tree yet.
CURSES!
Check back tomorrow for favorite Christmas movies!
