Everyone remembers being a kid and running down the stairs on Christmas morning to find a brilliantly lit Christmas tree with toys under it.
Sorry, I should have written “most everyone,” because back then, many of us didn’t have electricity or lots of presents under a tree—except for one Christmas.
We had gone to Midnight Mass, and on the way home, we dropped Grandma off at her house. Dad walked her carefully through the fresh snow and into her house, while we kids and Mom waited in the car, protected from the cold, Minnesota wind. Dad seemed to take a very long time returning to the car.
We had wanted to get out of the car and run to the barn because our Uncle Jesse told us that at midnight on Christmas Eve, the animals talked in praise of God. Mom said, “If they do, they’re quiet now because it’s almost two hours after midnight. Stay where you’re at.” Finally, Dad came out with a bag tucked under his arm and wouldn’t tell us what was in it.
It didn’t take long for us to drive that last half mile to our little house. We kids were whisked off to the bedroom, the door was closed, and we were told to stay there. What seemed hours later, Mom opened the door; we were awed! Our Christmas tree was filled with red, green, blue, and yellow lights. The colors reflected off the walls, and the windows above the frost. Even the frost on the windows was turned into rainbows of color. I still get a knot of excitement in my stomach just remembering that night.
Dad told us that Grandma had purchased some battery-powered lights and gave them to him in that brown bag. While Mom filled the stockings, he took the battery from the car and hooked up the lights. What an awesome sight!
Too excited to sleep, we delighted in emptying the long, brown, winter stockings we had put under the tree. We each had a fresh apple, an orange, and a candy bar in our sock. But even more exciting, we each had our own new coloring book and a box of eight crayons. We knew for sure there was a Santa Claus.
Simple Gift, Lifelong Lesson
With the end of the war, the economy improved. We moved to a bigger house with electricity, hot and cold running water, and a telephone. Life was good.When I was 12, I asked for a wristwatch for Christmas. I didn’t care if I received any other gift; I wanted a watch. Mom ordered most if not all the presents from Sears or Montgomery Ward catalogs. When the mailman dropped off boxes, Mom made sure to hide all the contents and warned us not to go looking for them. She liked surprises, too. One evening, a week or so before Christmas, while putting away dishes, I saw the unwrapped gifts high on a kitchen shelf. Could my watch be among them?
The suspense was more than I could bear! The next morning, the devil got hold of me and kept whispering in my ear, “Your mom is at the grocery store.” “Your dad is in the barn.” “Your brother is taking a shower and all the girls are still in bed.” “Get a chair, climb up there.” “You aren’t afraid, are you?” “I’ll hold the chair!”
I resisted. “Scared, are you?” the devil said. “Do it, you’re old enough to know what’s in those boxes.” “Are you a chicken or a man?”
After a couple of days of this, I became determined! “I am old enough, and no one will know.” So I pulled a chair over to the cabinet, climbed onto the cabinet, stood up, and opened the cabinet door. I lifted a large box, and there, under the box, was my watch! My hands were shaking, my heart was beating like I just climbed Mount Everest.
Five days and I would be like the boys in school. How could I wait? I closed the cabinet door, climbed down, and pushed the chair back into its place. No one would know!
I learned I was getting a watch, but I learned, too, what guilt feels like. For five days, I couldn’t look my mother or father in the eye. I tried to avoid being in the same room with them. There was no one to share my guilt; I felt sick all over.
What would I say when they were to hand me the wrapped box and ask me to guess? If I were to guess a watch, they'd know I peeked. If I were to say anything else, they’d see my nose grow!
Christmas Eve came, Christmas Day came. When it was time to open the presents, I wanted to run out of the house. My youngest sister passed out the gifts. She held mine behind her back and looked coyly at me and said, “Guess!”
“I can’t,” was all I could say.
Young kids, like pets, know stress when they see it. She handed me the box and ran to her chair. Tears filled my eyes when I opened the box and saw the watch.
“Thanks,” I cried.
I never told my parents, my sisters, or my bother that I peeked. I think Mom and Dad knew why I was acting so strange, but they never said a thing about it. That was probably the best way to handle a little thing that wasn’t really a little thing. I haven’t been able to peek at presents since.
A guilty conscience can sometimes be a good teacher. Some years ago, a wise mother told me that, often, it’s best to tell your guilty child his punishment is coming and wait for something he really wants and then forbid it. Is that mean or wise? What do you think?
When our 13 grandkids were aged 5 to 15, my wife Mary and I took them and their parents on the General Jackson, a local river boat that featured a first-class dinner and music. They played a version of “The Christmas Carol” in which the reformed Scrooge was generous and loving. They sang every Christmas carol you have ever heard and more. When the ship docked, the grandkids were so excited, they asked if we could go there every year. One boy even wanted to go every month. Mary and I enjoyed it just as much as the kids!
Merry Christmas, enjoy your family, and may God continue to bless you all.
