It's that time of year again. Trees are in windows, lights are on houses, and everything smells like a mix of pine and gingerbread. My parents also told me to start thinking about what I want for Christmas. However, I can't think of anything I want. When I was younger, I started making Christmas lists upon Christmas lists in December. But now that I've grown up a bit, I can't just name things that I want. I like to get presents, but I've become more focused on what I'm giving to others. That didn't used to be the case. I especially remember one year when I was in second grade, I did so much for one little present...
Actually it was two to be exact. I wanted the American Girl Doll Bitty Twins. I had seen them in the back of the catalog and in the magazines (both of which I received monthly). But I needed my parents to know that I wanted them. I started out by throwing it into conversations occasionally, hoping my parents would pick up what I was putting down. When they didn't seem to grasp it I decided to move onto something more direct. I started leaving the catalog open on places where they would find it. The kitchen table, the washing machine, my dad's desk in his office, anywhere that they might stumble on it by chance and realize that I truly needed these dolls. But I remember that they still didn't drop any hints.
A week before Christmas, I launched an even more extreme plan. I started finding pictures online and printing them off in scores (we had just learned how to use search engines in computer class and I put this knowledge to "good" use). I would leave these pictures on the pillows of my parents every night before they went to bed. My parents stayed just as discrete as they had before, though. My last phase of the attack happened the day before Christmas Eve. I just remember that I composed a poem of some sort and left it in their room. I also remember that on Christmas I woke up at 4 a.m. to see if I had gotten my dolls. After waiting the three excruciating hours (my parents made us wait until 7 to wake them up), we all went down to the tree.
Sure enough, there was a large box waiting for me under the tree and inside were my twin dolls. My sly parents had known since my first step of the plan that they would buy me these dolls (as they later told me). Now Polly and Peter (I had these names picked out long before Christmas) live somewhere in a box in my attic. Looking back on this experience now, I wonder if it was worth all the effort. I do remember the happy looks on my parents faces when I opened the gift, and I think it really was.
Happy Holidays everyone!
