This year, as she has since the Dawn of Time, my wife said to me, "So, what do you want for Christmas?"
And, as I have since the Dawn of Time, I said the same thing: "Figure it out."
I don't do Christmas Lists. I don't make them for myself and I don't follow them for others. I know Santa Claus does, and I understand that because he has a lot more people to get presents for. But I can manage just fine without one, thanks.
I stopped making lists of things I wanted for Christmas when I was nine years old and had The Worst Christmas Ever.
You know the old saying, "Be careful what you ask for."? That year, I truly came to understand that warning.
In November, my Mom sat me down with the Wish Book and said, "So, tell me what you want for Christmas." Well, what nine year old could resist? I paged through the catalogue with her and pointed out item after item. A Slinky. Silly Putty. A G.I. Joe Action Figure ("Don't call G.I. Joe a doll, Mom. He isn't a doll. Barbie is a doll. Ken is a doll. G.I. Joe is an "action figure".).
I also wanted a realistic U.S. Army submachine gun, a table hockey game, and a new pair of skates. I carefully noted for my Mom the model of skate (CCM), the features I wanted on the table hockey game, and I replicated the exact rat-a-tat-tat noise the submachine gun would make when I fired it at the enemy.
On Christmas morning, as always, the six of us kids were awake long before the crack of dawn, sitting in our rooms still as mice. Nobody was allowed to go downstairs until my parents were awake, and we knew from experience that waking our parents was a very bad idea. So we waited, quivering like tuning forks, until my Mom gave us the okay to burst down and look at the enormous pile of presents that had magically appeared under the tree.
Every year, one of us would be appointed "Santa's Helper". It was his or her job to dig under the tree and find presents for each of us in turn. And there was no mass opening, either. When you unwrapped a gift, you were the centre of attention until such time as you properly ooohed and awwwed over it and the next person's turn came.
My sister handed me my first present. I attacked the wrapping, tore it off, and wonder of wonders, it was a Slinky! Just what I had asked for!
After what felt like a year (six kids and two parents means you get every eighth turn), my sister handed me long package that felt like, but couldn't possibly be, but was ... a submachine gun! I whooped with delight.
Next go-around, I got a heavy box and immediately guessed, "Skates!" Sure enough, CCM skates, and they fit me perfectly. I couldn't have been happier.
You can see where this is going. In succession I unwrapped a table hockey game, a G.I. Joe Action Figure ("You got a doll for Christmas?" my brother jeered), and finally, Silly Putty. When my turn came around again, my sister looked up apologetically.
"That's it," she said.
But ... but ... there were no surprises. Christmas is a time of surprises. Mom had just taken my list and ... filled it out. I mean, sure, I was happy with everything I got. But I had gotten everything I asked for.
In other years, there had been that one gift that had made my jaw drop, made me realize that Santa really does exist because even I didn't know I wanted this present, so how could anybody else? But here it was, in my hands, and it was the most wonderful gift ever.
Not this year. This year, buying for me had become a clerical function. The only thought that had gone into my gifts had come from me. And somehow, even at age nine, it didn't feel right. I'm sure my Mom sensed my disappointment, but how could I tell her that the problem was, she had given me everything I had asked for?
So, this year, as always, I am an enigma. I'm not telling anyone what I want for Christmas. And I am not accepting orders from others. Because I want to give my loved ones gifts that show I have thought long and hard about what would make them happy.
And on Christmas morning, I want to open up presents and suddenly realize what I really wanted is right there. Given to me by someone who loved me enough to know. Now that is Christmas.
Don't shoot the messenger, but Christmas is coming! Nils Ling's book "Truths and Half Truths" is a collection of some of his most memorable and hilarious columns. Send a cheque or money order for $25.00 (taxes, postage and handling included) to RR #9, 747 Brackley Point Road, Charlottetown, PE, C1E 1Z3.
