A Lifelong Gift

When gifts are rare and unexpected, they are at their most powerful. However, when they become too frequent and predictable, they lose their true meaning.

As I sit here, bouncing my little boy on my knee, I can look back at how important a gift can be, especially in a young person’s life. It can alter your way of thinking and even sculpt a new life path in such a positive way.

* * * * *

It was an especially cold Christmas time. The recession had hit our city harder than others, my immediate family in particular. My dad was let go from his high-up position in a pharmaceutical company early on in the summer and his severance had just ended a few days back. His whole life was upended – he had guided all his efforts to be in that position, so it hit him hard. My mom, who always seemed to find a way to cheer him up even during his darkest times, had all but given up.

“Try not to bring up Christmas around your father…please?” My mom asked of us.

My mom and dad had always given my sister and I everything we ever wanted – Santa, too. Bikes, basketball hoop, ping pong table, and even a smaller fishing boat a couple years ago. Even though I had just slipped into my teenage years and my sister wasn’t too far behind, we knew we were spoiled. Gifts were great and we would always get the new, trendiest thing before everyone else – like clothes, gaming systems, and certainly the newest cell phones. We had lost the gleam of a gift, especially a Christmas gift. We just knew we’d get them and even though my mom wanted my sister and I to keep Christmas out of the conversation, we knew the presents would arrive one way or another just as they always did.

That is why when we went to sleep Christmas Eve, my sister and I slept perfectly, as if nothing were different. We wouldn’t want Santa to skip our house just because we were too eager, too impatient.

_ _ _ _ _

I woke up and dashed down the steps to find my sister staring at our Christmas tree as if she had just opened her stocking and found coal – her brows were furrowed and lips pursued. Furthermore, her eyes were welled up, barely able to hold back tears. It did not take long for my face to adjust the same way. But we both knew better than to say anything.

In front of us was a large, unwrapped brown paper box. It had to be the size of a bathtub. An envelope was taped to the front, smack in the middle, and a small pack of colored markers at the base.

Our parents lurched behind, my mom first. “Merry Christmas, Kids. Did Santa come?” She asked, still having to wipe sleep from her eyes.

Neither my sister nor I said a word. We just looked down.

I heard movement upstairs, so my dad was up.

With her hands on our shoulders, my mom looked ahead and smiled, “What’s this?” She moved my sister out of the way and proceeded forward to snag the envelope from the box.

She handed the envelope to me and just as I reached for it my dad arrived behind my sister, slouched, doing whatever he could to avoid eye contact.

“Merry Christmas, Honey.” My mom smiled at my dad and walked over to him. She threw her arms around him like they had not seen each other in years and gave him a big kiss. His shoulders straightened a bit in reaction to her. He then whispered something in her ear and a small, yet noticeable grin spread over his face, which was rare these days.

I opened the envelope.

In beautiful cursive handwriting, there was a message directed to my sister and I.

Merry Christmas, Mary and James:

You have both had excellent years,

Conquering your schoolwork and many fears.

You have listened and learned a deal of respect,

In difficult times, I am sure you detect.

However, children, please keep in mind,

True gifts are meant to last a lifetime.

Bicycles are important and a baseball glove, too,

Creating memories that are indeed enjoyable to sift through.

Although modest, this gift today,

May not be the most elaborate to your dismay.

Rather, this gift is not meant to go by fast.

So, build upon it, children, make it last.

Create something special that will continue to grow,

As does the harmony with your parents, for they love you so.

Love,

Santa Claus

My sister and I looked at each other and then to my parents. Surprisingly, it was she who made the first move; she squatted down and grabbed the markers.

She opened them and shrugged her shoulders, “Here.” She had chosen purple.

I chose orange.

My parents hesitantly joined us as both my sister and I ended up on a different side of the large brown box. They each took a marker – my dad red and my mom yellow.

We each had a side. Without words, we all just put marker to brown box and started on the only Christmas gift that had been in front of the tree.

I quickly switched my orange marker with black to create the outline of window frames.

I peeked over at my sister who was smiling so big she was nearly laughing, as if she had not received a better gift in her life. She was moving from end to end on her long rectangular side. Excitedly, but impatiently, she was rushing like she couldn’t wait to see her final project.

On the other hand, my parents were being meticulous with their work, calmly going about their drawings. I looked at my dad, and for the first time since he lost his job, he looked at me and did not break focus. He goofily looked away and back at me again as if I were the one staring uncomfortably at him. Then he raised a sarcastic eyebrow, smirked, and went back to work on his side. I couldn’t help but smile at him. It had been a while since he had looked at me that way.

I continued my side, not really knowing what to do. So, I made it up. Along with my windows, I drew a large slide from window to window and colored in the rest of my side orange.

“I’m done, I’m done.” My sister stood up loudly and dropped her marker.

As the three of us moved dramatically to her side, I glanced at the clock. We had been drawing for nearly an hour.

She had drawn a green pasture with stick figure animals galloping (well at least that’s what I would assume they were doing) around the grass. There were only a few tiny areas of cardboard she missed. The rest was covered.

My parents looked at mine and nodded approvingly. My mom had made her entire side a window pane that you could see in. Inside the window, a family of four was eating dinner together – she even made the daughter putting food in her mouth and the son leaning into the father as if to tell him something. She was clearly the artist of us. It was incredible.

We went to my dad’s side last. He had drawn a large Christmas tree with presents overflowing from the top of his side and spilling out from underneath the tree. “This is a Christmas we can look forward to.” He gestured towards his drawing.

My mom reached an arm around his waist and he stretched his over her shoulders.

"Santa’s right, Dad.” I broke the sudden silence. “Let us build on this one. I don’t think I have seen Mary this happy…ever.”

He pulled both Mary and I in. “Okay.” He said.

_ _ _ _ _

It had been my mom’s idea, the brown paper box. So, rightfully so, she had been the one to deem this a tradition. The only gifts we could include on our Christmas list would have to be something that would expand on what we had done the previous Christmas. It was a unanimous family decision.

Shortly after Christmas, my dad landed a similar-level position. And, although financially we were back to normal, if not even better off, rather than receiving gifts whenever we pleased, we would take what my parents would call ‘weekend adventures” – short, spontaneous trips just to enjoy each other. We loved it.

The next year my sister asked for a second large, bath-tub sized box, of course and I asked for tubes to create a real slide…also, of course.

The following year, my sister asked for paint and paint brushes so we could redecorate. I asked to replace the car board with thin sheets of wood along with hammers and nails to make this small, somewhat plastic idea into a real one. My dad loved it, but we had to store it for the whole year in the garage once the decorations came down.

By the time I was a senior, we had made this a permanent structure outside our house with a shingle roof and brick siding. My sister and I would invite our friends to sleep over in it because my dad went the extra lengths to insulate the place and even wedged a small window air-conditioning unit to assist in the summer.

After having missed my family beyond belief during my first semester of college, winter break had turned into an adventure of its own. My dad had built an addition, with the assistance of my mom and sister, onto the now home-like shed to surprise me – complete with sturdy bunk beds for my sister and I and a master bedroom. They even included a TV, a fireplace, a small kitchen area, and a bathroom. “How about spending Christmas overnight in this palace?” My dad had asked.

All of this simply from a brown paper box.

* * * * *

“You ready to go see Grandmom and Grandpop?” I asked my small son.

“Yep!” He was always so excited to see them.

We gathered my wife and newly born daughter, and all slid into our minivan.

We drove over to my parent’s house for Christmas Eve where we would meet up with my sister and her fiancé.

Pulling into their driveway, no matter how often or not, forced me to flip through memories every time. Mainly after we received the Brown paper box. Isn’t that funny?

We all walked in. I hugged my mom and then joined up with my sister and dad who were talking in the kitchen.

“Come here.” He gestured as I hugged my sister.

Of course, we followed him to the back yard where the updated shed had been and where every Christmas was still held. There were four bedrooms now, which expanded the structure to a second level. In place of the window unit there was an entire air conditioning system, a living room, a ping pong table, and even a slide from the kids’ room (bunkbeds) to the master.

“Geez, Dad.” Mary shook her head as she smiled.

We walked to the living room where piles of Christmas gifts glowed under the Christmas tree.

“A little much, don’t you think?” I asked my dad with my arms folded.

My sister laughed.

My dad looked at us both. “We could always start this year with a new brown paper box.”

The three of us looked at each other for a moment, smiling, clearly leaping down memory lane. Each amazing year, although not quite as amazing as the first, had all developed from this brown paper box. Now look at it.

The silence broke as we all joined in. “Nah!”

My dad wrapped us in his arms. “Merry Christmas, you two.”