CHAPTER 5: CHRISTMAS SURPRISE

THROUGH MY SIX-YEAR-OLD EYES, Christmas morning was magical. A shiny, silver Christmas tree filled Grandma and Grandpa’s large, arched front window. Two brightly colored bulbs at the base of the tree sent light flooding upward to reflect off the tree’s hundreds of tiny silvery strips. The tree rotated slowly, creating a mesmerizing kaleidoscope effect.

Grandma and Grandpa were not rich, but on Christmas morning it felt like they were millionaires. An overflowing mound of presents spilled out from under the fake Christmas tree.

Once my aunts and uncles and cousins arrived, we packed into my grandparents’ big living room. Grandpa began his methodical ritual of passing out the presents one by one. It always felt like it took forever for him to select each present and read the nametag before slowly handing the present to the appropriate person. As each gift emerged from its wrapping paper, everyone oohed and aahed.

Then, as typically happened every Christmas, midway through the mountain of presents, Grandpa tired of playing Santa and instead turned referee, blowing a whistle to signal it was time for the free-for-all. Everyone surged forward in a mad scramble to claim their remaining presents from under the tree and rip them open.

As usual, I stayed in the background, standing shyly on the outskirts of the wrapping-paper-shredding madhouse. Once the living room was strewn with a clutter of paper, bows, and discarded packaging and everyone had inspected their new toys, it was time to transition to all the food Grandma had prepared.

But just as Grandpa began to herd us from the living room into the kitchen, Uncle Dave —the war hero who was also a Golden Gloves boxer and judo champion —made a big announcement. “I have one more gift to give and wanted to save this one for last. It’s for Greg,” he said.

I was astounded. I was the misfit kid, not the favorite, the one whose manhood they were worried about.

I’d sensed for as long as I could remember that I didn’t really belong in this brawny, brawling family. And they all sensed it too. They were worried about me. Sometimes, late at night, from up in my room, I overheard them talking about “toughening me up.” They were afraid that not just the neighborhood but life itself would chew me up and spit me out.

All the adult family members gathered around the Christmas tree today —Ma, Grandpa, Grandma, and my aunts and uncles —weren’t concerned about most of my other cousins. Eric, David, Larry, Pam, Tammy, Jackie, and the rest of the crew were as tough as nails. They were scrappy. They knew how to handle themselves in a neighborhood where kids ran free and where might won out over right. Nobody bullied them.

But now on this Christmas morning, the most magical day of the entire year, despite my shortcomings, for whatever reason, Uncle Dave was giving me a special gift.

I stepped out from the shadows and joined the inner circle. Maybe this was my moment to shine. Maybe I did belong in this family after all.

Uncle Dave’s beautifully wrapped present was passed from person to person to person as it made its way across the room toward me. My face was flushed with embarrassment, but my heart was full of pride. All eyes locked on me as I began to tear open the wrapping paper.

My heart was beating hard, not in anticipation of the gift so much, but because I had the attention of my entire family —maybe for the first time in my memory. I’d never felt so special.

But my heart dropped into my shoes when I saw what was inside. It was a baby doll, the kind of doll that came with a bottle and an extra set of baby clothes.

At first, I thought it was a mistake. I thought maybe he had got my gift mixed up with someone else’s. Looking up at Uncle Dave across the room I said, “It’s a doll.”

The words he said next seared into my soul like a cattle brand. He looked right at me and said, “I figured since you don’t have a dad, maybe you’d like to play with dolls like a little girl.”

There it was. What others may have whispered to each other in back rooms, Uncle Dave said out loud in front of everyone. He summed up what many in my family thought of me. They were strong; I was weak. They were confident; I was cowering. They had powerful fathers; I had no father.

I had failed to live up to Grandpa’s impossible standard of strength and Grandma’s standard of toughness. My quietness was construed as wimpy weakness. I was right. I didn’t fit into this rough, tough family.

And this was my reward —a girl’s doll.

I erupted in unbridled rage.

Now my face was red for a whole other reason as I walked quickly and boldly across the room and shoved the doll into my uncle’s stomach with a fury I didn’t know I was capable of. “I AM NOT A GIRL!” I yelled.

The family roared with laughter at my unexpected, enraged response, but I saw a look of surprise flash across Uncle Dave’s face. “Maybe he’s one of us after all!” he observed.

I was confused. I didn’t understand why the uncle I both idolized and feared would do something so cruel. And I had no clue why everyone was pleased about my angry reaction to the gift.

But the emotional trauma inflicted on me that day marked a new beginning. It triggered an awareness inside me that something was missing. And it launched me on a search for my true identity.

Even at age six, I could sense there was something more, a Presence who wanted to lead me out from the chaos to a place of safety, security, and significance. But at that age, I wasn’t sure of the whys, the who, or the what. I just knew I had a big hole in my heart that was aching for more.