Christmas: Peeking at Gifts
My sister, P, and I would always exchange gifts on Christmas Eve. These were the “special” gifts that we gave each other that were allowed to be opened the night before. We would sit on the brick in front of the fireplace, still dandied up from Mass, grasping at our gifts. I vividly remember waiting every time this occurred. It is very possible we never really waited, I was little ten minutes to a six-year-old is an easy percentage of their life.
One year as I was grasping the box that was just the right size for a Barbie, I nicked the edge of the wrapping. The nick was small—there was no noticeable tear, just the corner of the corner bared. The tear looking very similar to what might happen if the package had been carried around for a long time and had just worn through. And what did I find under that mighty tiny tear? Bright toxic Barbie pink.
I got a Barbie. Sissy bought me a Barbie! There was a moment of such elation, even though I didn’t have a clue what kind of Barbie it was, or if it was a girl or boy; I was just ecstatic to realize it was a Barbie.
Hours later (it seemed), Mama and Daddy came over and we unwrapped them, and I’m sure it was awesome. I just don’t remember it, but I do remember that first flash of hot joy when I glanced at the trademarked color. Ooo Barbie!
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