Christmas Day

“The Gift of Relief” When I was three, the babysitter helped me. We opened every present under our tree. Carefully each gift was perfectly re-wrapped. Except for the one that tore; fate had zapped. When my parents came home that Christmas Eve, To be surprised I had to make-believe. By tradition we opened one before, I picked the gift where the paper tore. My joy was gone; there was no surprise. Childhood delight felt pain from living lies. When I was twelve I could take it no more. I told Mom what happened those years before. Anger roared when she told Santa Claus. He was not happy about my flaws. That year each gift that came in the mail, Disappeared from the tree; my hope grew stale. On Christmas morning they were all returned. I felt relieved for the lesson learned. A bag of switches was Santa’s gift. I knew that year Mom was really miffed. By Dane Ann Smith-Johnsen December 25, 2015