Under the Tree
On a much lighter note than the previous post, while revisiting the past at my parents the other evening, I thought back to some of the best Christmas gifts I received as a boy. It shouldn’t require much explanation nor suspension of belief to hear that I did not ask for typical toy cars or video-games or sports paraphernalia that some boys might want.
I had my heart set on unicorns and dolls and strange exotic creatures. I wanted stardust and glitter and marabou boas. I wanted lava lamps and chemistry sets and lightning in a glass globe. Yet for all the items on my lists over the years, it was usually the ones I didn’t ask for that I enjoyed the most.
The very first gift I can actually remember is a record player. I seem to recall Mom going out on Christmas Eve and all of us wondering where she had gone, then returning a short time later with a record player, and suddenly the house was filled with music. That night it was Christmas carols, but soon we’d be listening to Peter, Paul, and Mary and the soundtrack to ‘The Magic Garden’ – a children’s show that I loved.
A few years later, I ran downstairs on Christmas morning to find a package that was as tall as me. Tearing open the wrapping, I found a chalkboard, which I instantly adored – pretending to teach lessons, writing in chalk, and wiping it off like I was at school. I thought it was the coolest thing.
The other Christmas I remember was mostly due to the combination of gifts my brother and I received rather than any one particular item. We each got a stuffed E.T. toy, as well as a little house/fort that we could stay inside and close off to the world. A few books were also part of that Christmas, and I distinctly remember laying down in our little house and trying to read ‘The Unicorn and the Serpent’ which was just beyond my grasp. The pictures were both exciting and scary, with a terrifying serpent that seemed to have the upper hand until the end. I stayed in that little house much longer than my brother, who easily lost interest in such staid occupations as reading, but even alone there I loved the moment.
In recent years Andy has done an admirable job of surprising me with his choices – a Bulova watch, a new camera – things that I didn’t even realize I wanted until I got them. As obnoxiously materialistic as I often feign to be, it’s always been the thought that mattered most.
There were far more expensive gifts that I would ask for and receive (a laser-disc player so I could play Madonna’s Blonde Ambition Tour, a Louis Vuitton Keepall 50) but the ones I cherished the most were those unexpected gifts that only the people who loved me most could know that I wanted. It’s a touching affirmation that someone noticed after all.