Christmas morning, bright dark and early, at around 6:00 a.m. I just had to get up and open the present my dad sent me, the first actual present from my dad since sometime around 1984, the only present he gave to any one of us kids or grand-kids. Not to take away from my other amazing presents, some even from me to me, but my dad sent me a present? My dad? A present? To ME? What? That present sitting at the foot of my bed gave me that same feeling I used to get on Christmas Eve night, … well almost close enough. I even woke up at 2:00 a.m. thinking I would open the present, but 2:00 a.m. is still night, so I made myself wait.
Six a.m. was long enough to wait, dark or not. I turned the yard-light on, then walked Tyson in the lighted yard, then came inside. Feeling like walking the dog had made it true-morning, I opened that present. The present was a replacement Hickory Farms set, a bigger, nicer one, actually. If you read my last story you’ll know why I did one of those half-smile/half laughs when I saw the present. Long story short, I had told my dad that his intended and prior Hickory Farms present (a much simpler package sent by direct mail-order) hadn’t arrived, so it seems before he heard my later telephone message thanking him for the one that had actually arrived, he had gone to the Hickory Farms store for a different one. And he sent this one personally. I could tell this one was his doing, not a mail-order, because I could see “my dad” all over it. It even makes me want to save it. But one can’t keep food as a keepsake, can they?
The present was wrapped in black wrapping paper with silver sparkles. Black is good. It was my childhood favorite color; there were walls featuring good black crayon drawings somewhere. There was a card too inside a sparkly envelope, little sparkles buried in the white cardstock. Sparkly things? Sparkly things are really good! At least to me. The best part, the card was written and signed by my dad, no first name, no credit to the girlfriend, no present that was actually corporate, but a real card, a real signature. The present was actually in the card — a bill that fell to my floor when I opened the card too quickly not expecting anything to be in it. It was a 50 dollar bill. I haven’t decided if I’ll spend it with the Banana Republic 40% coupon I got yesterday to get those really cute tight straight jeans I saw there and didn’t try on because their price is just a bit too much for my scared-to-spend-anything-but-need-ALL-new clothes-because-I’m-so-much-smaller-than-my-actual-clothes self or as a partial amount on the speaker I need (yes need) for my Marshall (yes Marshall) amp. Perhaps I’ll ask my dad what he would rather the present go towards. But the best part of the present … the little word right above “Dad” on the card. My dad, for the first time in I can’t tell you when, wrote “love.” And you know what? That was what was on my Christmas list, not a speaker-cabinet (a thing I would really want), not something from Banana Republic (also a thing I would really want), just plain and simple love.
See? Believing works!
Oh and I have a box where I have every card I’ve ever received, decades of things written first to my little-girl-self, then to my older-girl-self, but not so much to my grown-up-self because there just aren’t so many. But with those decades of other cards, I’ll put my 2014 Christmas card, in its sparkly envelope, and probably with just a bit of the black-with-silver-sparkles wrapping paper, into my card keepsake box, the 2014 sparkly one seeming so … 1984.
Merry Christmas, y’all. Thank you for always being here with me. Thank you to those of you whose love I always feel. I hope you all got everything on your lists, especially the love of those you hold dear.
XOXO
Whispergirl