by Judith Kniffen
Christmas morning in my childhood household was a strictly orderly process. After all, our family had two boys slightly over a year apart in age–and then me, 3 years younger. I’d have been flattened each year before the door swung open to the booty. So, after a civilized breakfast, complete with (grrrr) parental conversation, we were duly lined up at the door to the dining room, I in the lead. In the back of the room by a large window stood our Christmas tree in all its splendor, with wrapped gifts strewn about underneath. Everyone seated, I fetched the first present for someone else, and we went around the family that way, one by one. We all witnessed who got what, “ooohed” and “aaahed” accordingly, and Dad made note of the information for our thank you notes.
If this sounds a little too regimented for you, well, one year we added a new puppy named “Tuffy” to our household. Well and good, but she didn’t know the Christmas rules. Some time in the wee morning hours, Tuffy had sniffed out the boxes of chocolates that my father, a school teacher, inevitably got from parents. When we filed into the Christmas room, Tuffy was lying listlessly on the floor, surrounded by chewed Christmas paper, box material, unfinished chocolates, and whatever dregs she could bring up from her outraged stomach. The look on her miserable face said it all. The opening of presents that morning was particularly subdued; and the message was driven home to all of us that gifts are a blessing when received with thoughtful gratitude and enjoyed in timely moderation!
May your holiday be both joyous and thoughtful.
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