For me, no night of the year was filled with more anticipation than Christmas Eve and no morning of the year was filled with more crushing disappointment than Christmas Day. Christmas Eve embodied the promise of all that could be. The possibility of gifts I hadn’t even thought of, things I didn’t even know that I wanted yet. And soon they would be mine. “OH MY GOD, I LOVE IT!” What these magical items were I had no idea. But I was certain they were out there. Somewhere. What I was missing could surely be bought in a store for the right amount of money. Inevitably, the hope of Christmas Eve is followed by the reality of Christmas morning. My sister and I up at 6:30 A.M., my parents still asleep. We opened our gifts without them. I remember later seeing TV shows and movies where entire families would gather together around the tree and “ooh” and “ah” collectively as the children opened their presents in delight in front of their adoring parents. I couldn’t think of anything worse. I didn’t want any witnesses to the certain indifference I’d show as I tore through the wrapping paper only to reveal a game I’d never heard of.
“What is this?” I’d ask my sister, holding it out in front of me like a bag of dog shit. It was as if my parents were buying gifts for some other child. One who would appreciate a Hasbro toy that wasn’t even popular enough to have its own commercial.
(Having to give a performance while opening a gift in front of the giver has never been one of my strong suits. The forced smile as I hold up a shirt that I hate. “Thank you, it’s perfect.” The giver always immediately sensing my dislike for whatever item it is that I’ve already reboxed and shoved aside. Offers from the giver to exchange it pour forth like a tap and the rest of our time together is now damage control.
“No, really, I love it, I don’t have anything like it.”
“Are you sure? Because it’s not any trouble to return it.”
“Of course I’m sure, I would tell you.”
After a few more back-and-forths the visit never regains its proper footing. I much prefer to be in the position of gift giver. “Here. Don’t open it in front of me, the receipt’s taped to the bottom of the box.” I don’t need a show, thank you. A party where the birthday person opens up their presents in front of all the guests is perhaps the most grotesque thing that one adult person can do to another. I didn’t even do this when I was six. The few birthday parties I had when I was very young I chose to open my gifts alone after everyone had gone home. There’s only so much enthusiasm one can muster for a box of Colorforms.)
I guess there’s something to be said for a family gathering around the tree to see the wonder on a young child’s face as they yank the bow off a new bike. But I think it was better for all parties concerned that my parents never saw the look on my face as I lifted the lid off a box containing the wrong brand of sneakers or a watch I would never wear. Thankfully, I didn’t have to put on a performance for my sister, my only audience member. She didn’t care how ungrateful I was as she excitedly laced up her new ice skates.
“You want mine, too?” I’d ask dead-eyed, offering her my blue version of her pink ones. We lived in Queens not Canada, I wasn’t planning on traveling by ice anytime soon.
And to make matters worse, as I got older I already knew exactly what gifts I was getting. Having spent the previous weeks going through every inch of the house in order to find them. One year there was a folded-up Ping-Pong table covered with a sheet barely concealed behind the hot water heater. I mean, come on! (Although to this day I’m still an excellent Ping-Pong player, so that one gets a pass.) Car trunk, parents’ closet, dresser drawers, I knew all the spots. Occasionally, I’d find something two days before Christmas in a spot that had previously been empty. Cutting it close, I’d think. I tried not to look, to just wait until Christmas morning like a normal child, but I couldn’t help myself. I was even a little annoyed once I found them. Like if you’re going to hide something in your bedroom closet, you deserve having it discovered. You’re not even trying, I’d think as I rifled through my mother’s underwear drawer, revealing a backgammon set tucked under her bras. At least make it a little challenging. Short of burying our presents in the backyard I’m not sure where I really expected my parents to hide them. Our house wasn’t that large so there were just so many options. But still …
There would always be a few items I missed, though. So there was still a surprise to be had on Christmas morning. And with that surprise came hope. What if this year were different? What if everything were different? Even now I don’t know what it was that I actually wanted. To this day I’m hard-pressed to say what it is that I want when someone asks me. “I’ll know it when I see it,” I want to say. (One exception was my sixteenth birthday. I asked my parents for a leather jacket that year. And on my birthday, when I opened the box, inside there was a light gray leather blazer. I can still see it. I’m sure I made a face not unlike the one you make while taking a sip of orange juice when you think you poured milk. I told my mother that’s not the kind of leather jacket I wanted. I was thinking Rebel Without a Cause not retired car salesman. She said this was the last gift she was ever getting me. And it was. True to her word I haven’t received one since. Gift cards for the past thirty-five years, yes. But she was no longer going to make the effort to go out and buy something for me. She’d had enough of my shit. And, really, who could blame her? Even at the time I remember thinking, Good for you. I know I wouldn’t have shopped for me.)
But the night before Christmas was perfect. Anything was possible. If I could bottle one hour it would be the hour before I went to bed on Christmas Eve. Usually I wasn’t able to sleep because of the excitement and I would bring my blanket and my teddy bear and make a nest on the floor of my sister’s bedroom. Whispering to each other throughout the night as it dragged on for an eternity. There were so many things I couldn’t imagine. And one of them could be right outside that door, in our very own living room, just waiting for me to open it. And change my life forever.