Christmas Morning

I remember the anticipation of Christmas morning that each Christmas Eve brought. Each Christmas Eve my family and I had a quiet dinner, which was later followed by Christmas carols played on the piano while my dad dozed off in his recliner. Off in my parents' bedroom my mother wrapped present after present until she could wrap no more. When I was very young, I had no inkling of such present wrapping; but as we got older my mom wasn't quite as discreet about her routine. I guess she figured that we knew where the presents came from, so why bother hiding it?

After several hours of wrapping presents, my mom hid one present for each of us somewhere in the house, and our job was to find the present. My sister was not a big fan of this tradition, but I was a huge fan and every Christmas I looked forward to this tradition just as much as waking up the next morning to see what Santa brought.

One Christmas Eve I found a silken chocolate brown bear sitting in a sauce pan in the pots and pans cabinet. I don't remember many other times as clearly as I remember finding the bear sitting in a pot.

Each Christmas Eve my sister and I went to bed around 10:30 or 11:00. We had to see where Santa was on the local news at 11:00, and so afterwards we were shooed off to bed, which is when the unfurling of presents by my parents began.

In my bed I lain, as I watched the shadows, illuminated by the candles in my windows, dance across the wall. I tried to shut my eyes and sleep but the excitement was too much to bare, and my eyes popped open as each sound echoed from beneath my room.

Once I heard the door to our shed screech open. Later on I learned that the shed was the keeping room for my new purple dirt bike.

After several hours of trying to sleep to no avail, silence from down below came. I quietly hopped out of bed, tiptoed out of my room and peered over the top stair, trying to gain a glimpse into the living room where I knew the presents would be.

Usually I couldn't see much from standing on the top stair, so I crouched down and almost laid my cheek to the floor trying to see what was there. I could see a box or two, but nothing more. Then, my curiosity got the best of me, and I took one step down onto the next stair. I leaned down to see through the railing and down into the living room. I still couldn't see. Time to take another step. This continued until finally I decided just go walk down into the living room. Sure enough, each year, without fail, our living room was transformed from antique to toy filled within a matter of hours.

There was one Christmas where I was bold enough to not only go all the way down, but I also went to see my presents too. I had a whole chair piled high with toys and clothes. There were Barbie dolls sitting in boxes, an acid washed jean jacket folder over tissue paper and box after box waiting to be opened. Sitting atop a bunch of boxes was my prized present: a pair of white fringe leather boots. Oh yes, white fringe. I thought they were the coolest boots around. Whether or not they actually were the coolest boots, I have no idea. But I had been in love with them for months. Each time I went to the tack shop with my mom to pick up items for the horses, I went straight to those boots. I would touch their soft white leather and imagine myself wearing them, and being the coolest girl in the fifth grade. I just had to have them, and finally, I did.

As I grew older my patience waned, and I usually went down to look at my presents every Christmas Eve. I always felt a certain amount of guilt, but an adolescent will always choose immediate, rather than delayed, gratification.

I am thankful to have such happy memories of my Christmases. I suppose these memories are why I look forward to each Christmas, and I hope to one day start my own traditions. I may even throw a bear in a pot to etch a new memory for our kids; I think that one would stick.