Dear Mom so this is what Christmas was like

Dear Mom so this is what Christmas was like

That first Christmas together or should I say that first Christmas Claire and I spent alone together. She arrived home on Christmas Eve. She was far too tired to worry about presents and perhaps too young to fully understand the significance of the night before Christmas. I put her in her jammies and tucked her into bed. I sang a few choice lullabies, though they were completely unnecessary, she was already asleep. They were not for her. They were for me. I had just spent my very first Christmas Eve alone. She was back and everything was right with the world.

The presents were wrapped, check! The toys from Santa were out, check! There were goodies in the stockings, check! The carrots and cookies were eaten with a commensurate amount of crumbs left on the plate to make it look real, check! The camera was ready with fresh batteries. I went to sleep that night, peacefully, looking forward to Christmas morning.

When I opened my eyes Claire had not yet woken up. I toyed with the idea of waking her, then decided to let her sleep, I rechecked everything I had checked off the night before and decided to go play a computer game. It was almost 10:00 before she came into the computer room. Sleepy eyed in her little footy pjs. Carrying a teddy bear and seeking some serious snuggling time. I hoisted her up into my lap and she nestled her head against my shoulder and I though she would fall back to sleep for a moment.

“Did Santa come?” The little voice, almost a whisper, was not filled with surprise or excitement, it was just a question like, “Are you hungry?”

“I don’t know?” I answered, “maybe we should go check?”

With as much excitement as I could express I carried her down the stairs and gasped at the Christmas tree. She wiggled to be released from my grasp and pranced toward the tree as only a toddler can do. I pointed at the plate on the coffee table, “Look, he ate all the cookies!” I might as well kept that to myself, she was busy picking up presents.

We sat down beside the tree and started opening presents. She was awkward but dedicated. Little by little the paper came off the packages. I tried to catch every gasp and smile on camera but they were short and quick. No sooner had she opened one present she reached for another. As she reached for her fifth present she looked over at me. “Where are you presents Daddy?”

There was suddenly a silence in the room I could feel. I stared blankly at her for a moment while I thought of something to say. Where were my presents? I had no parents to give me presents, my ex-wife was surely not giving me anything. My grandmas had stopped sending me stuff years ago.

With wisdom far beyond her years and a sympathy that I did not even know her small frame was capable she handed me the present in her hand and said, “Here Daddy you can have one of mine.”

I reached over and pulled her into my arms. Tears welled in my eyes as I hugged my dear sweet daughter. “You are so sweet.” I told her, “Let’s have some breakfast before we finish opening presents.”

I am sure she would have preferred to continue with the presents but unknowledgeable of the actual tradition or events of Christmas she went along with it. I put her in her highchair and got out some cereal and some milk in her cup. Then I palmed the roll of tape, a pair of scissors and hid a roll of wrapping paper behind my back and dashed up stairs. Grabbing a pair of socks, an old CD, and a few other things within reach I quickly wrapped some presents. Peaking down the stairs she was intent on eating her cereal and watching the cartoons on TV. I snuck behind her and placed the packages on the floor next to the tree. When we had finished eating I suggested we sit back down and finish opening presents.

With great surprise and excitement I pulled over the heretofore unseen gifts. I announced, “My turn.” And opened up a pair of socks. “These are my favorite.” I exclaimed. “Your turn.” I told her and she reached for another present.

“Is this one mine or yours Daddy?” She held it up and waited for me to answer. “That one is yours Sweety.”

How many times had you wrapped a present for yourself just so you would have something to open at Christmas? How many times had you rushed up the stairs, or gone around the corner or sheltered my young eyes from something that was going to make me sad? How many times had you pretended nothing was wrong when the rent was late or the water bill was due?

The night before as I spent my very first Christmas Eve alone I felt such sorry for my dear sweet mother who, had all those years ago, sat at home and waited for her children to return. I was certain it was one of my saddest moments. Now it became clear to me it was only a shadow compared to the feeling of waking up Christmas morning and not having a present under the tree.

Claire sat nestled in my lap as we opened boxes, took apart packaging and explored her new treasures. She vacillated between presents trying to decide which one needed her attention most at that moment. Choosing carefully which was to be her favorite, which she would take to bed that night. She picked up a small teddy bear and gave it a big hug. She set it down and turned around. Climbing a little higher in my lap she wrapped her tiny arms around my neck and hugged me. “Thank you Daddy,” she said, “You are the best present ever.” I do not know if it was a slip of the tongue. I do not know if she meant to say something else. It seemed to only make sense in a context I thought only I could see. “No,” I said, “YOU are the best present ever.”

Merry Christmas Mom,

Love Mike