As a child Christmas was a magic time. Even though we didn’t have much money, our parents would always make sure there were gifts under the tree that we wanted although we didn’t know which gifts they choose for us. Every year around Christmas time we would circle things we wanted in the Sears Christmas catalog and my mom would pick from the items we wanted. Mom would wrap the gifts and place them under the tree.

Hardly a day went by that I, or my sisters, weren’t shaking the packages and trying to guess what was in them or asking our mom for clues. Time passed and we were no longer small children, but Christmas was still a special time. The tree was retired and our gifts were usually smaller and grouped around the piano. Gifts were still secrets and shaking the packages was still a guilty Christmas time pleasure. We rarely had extended family with us for Christmas after we moved across the state, but that didn’t stop us from having fun with our immediate family and our local church friends.

One afternoon, as a teenager, I was shaking packages and badgering my mom for clues as to which gifts were mine. It must have been an extremely stressful day for my mom because she asked me if I wanted to know what I had gotten for Christmas. In spite of my frantic NO, she begin telling me all that I had gotten. I was devastated. No surprises for me on Christmas day. Trust me when I say that I never again bugged her about what was in my packages.

Over the next several Christmas seasons my mom would ask me if I wanted to know what they had gotten me for Christmas–the answer was always NO.