Christmas has arrived and, along with it, all the bitterness and infighting that comes trailing behind this most blessed holiday.  Families together, bickering, counting presents, taking names.  But, like a beacon of light, the miracle boy shines through all the muck of holiday emotion and reminds us what is really important, what truly matters on this most special of events.  Or so he would like to think...

First, I would like to explain that I am not evil, spoiled, rotten or even the least bit bitter or nasty. The adjective "scrooge" would also not describe the person that I am.  And my heart, by the way, is not black, cold or shriveled up and dead.  And, on a final note, I have never, to the best of my memory, ever received a lump of coal from the Jolly old elf.  Most people think I'm pretty nice or, at the very least, strangly endearing.  Now that you understand that, let me get on with my story...

Imagine this...Christmas morning, early.  The sun shines in slanty lines through the back picture windows, lighting dust motes and happy children's faces.  My dad sits on the couch, legs crossed at the knee, with a cup of steaming specialty holiday coffee in his hand.  A slight smile plays upon his lips.  The two young ones (Eve and Eli) are down on their knees, gleefully ripping through presents and squealing in delight at the toys and gifts that appear before them. My mother and Anthony hold their cameras in the background, making a record of all the Christmas happiness that is occuring  around them. (Oh yeah, and some guy in a wheelchair was watching, too.  I think his name was Sam). I also pick up the presents that have been given to me, three of them, neatly wrapped and labeled with my name.  I open them each and, to my wonder, they are gifts that show that the giver knows me and, consequently, also loves me.  How thoughtful and nice.  I smile and bestow a nice grateful daughter look upon my parents. 

Then my sister and her children arrive...

Heather and her kids get settled and after the flurry of child unwrapping has slowed down, she turns to her own gifts.  Heath receives the same three gifts that I also got earlier.  We smile and make a comment about the perfection of these gifts.  But then it happens...her daughter runs over with ANOTHER gift in her hand and says, "Mom, this one is for you."  I walk slowly over to where my sister sits and watch (with concern) while she opens this gift.  Opera glasses.  Very expensive.  I think they may have been covered in diamonettes.  My mom laughs and makes a comment about how this will help her see when she goes to concerts.  They giggle and and my mom and sister look deep into each others eyes.  A cartoon question mark forms above my head.  Since Heather and I always get the same number of gifts (and usually idential ones) where is my fourth gift?  Perhaps the dog ate my opera glasses?  Were they thrown away?  I scurry over to the tree and crawl under it for a few minutes, looking for the misplaced gift.  I find a squeaky chipmunk and a dog bone, but nothing else.  I stand for a minute, confused, until I hear my sister's other daughter say, "Mom, here is ANOTHER gift for you!"  I whirl around and race over to where my sister stands, holding a box that is as tall as her.  "Oh, what ever could this be?" she laughs as my mom stands on, hands clasped in front of her with a look of absolute glee on her face.  My face looked blank but then I cover it  with a very controlled look of calm fake happiness.  "Oh, whatever could it be?" I say in a strained voice.  Heather spends a lot of time picking at tape and making comments about this big box that she can't open and what could be in it she could never guess yada yada yada.  I might have gotten scissors or a butterknife for her, (not as a weapon, but just to help open the box) but it is really all a blur now.  She finally manages to open this impressive present and pulls out a giant umbrella.  My mom walks over and puts her arms around Heather. "I got this for you, my favorite daughter,  because your other umbrella broke." (Okay, maybe she didn't say "favorite daughter", but at this point it just didn't matter).  Now I walk away and start to feel like the absolute, black-hearted jerk that I am.  What kind of over-thirty mother of two counts presents and feels bad when her sister gets two more than she did?  What a scrooge, a louse, a dirty rotten daughter.  Now, at this point, I do get a little teary-eyed--not because of the lack of opera glasses or umbrellas in my life, but because I feel bad about these two things instead of appriciating what I got and all that my parents have done for me over the years.  Jerk.  Jerk.  Jerk.  So here I stand, with an obvious miserable scowl on my face when my brother Sam rolls over in his wheelchair.  He tilts his head up toward me and, with a beautific look on his face, says, "It doesn't matter what material things we get...the real presents are the people we love."  And then he rolls away.  I stare at his retreating form and the very unChristmas-like thought of "whatever" flashes across my ungrateful mind.  I continue to fume by myself when my brother returns.  He again looks up at me and says, "The things that really matter you can't even see...they are inside your heart."  And, again, without another word, he whirls around and  rolls away.  Now I feel irritated.  Yeah...words of wisdom from the guy that owns every video game system ever made.  So I walk over to the couch and sit down, simply wanting to stew in my own nasty, unholiday-like juices.  BUT HE JUST CAN'T LEAVE IT ALONE.  I see him coming, from across the room, slowly rolling, looking at me with big round eyes.  My face and entire body posture warns him to stay away but he has never been good at reading body language.  He rolls right up in front of me and we now both sit, eye to eye.  He tilts his head slightly to the left and says, "What do we really need in life when we have people we love?"  My eyes squint and narrow into little, angry slits.  I tilt my head down and lean toward him.  When I am about a foot away from his calm, sanctimonious little face I hiss  "Yeah, thanks for your wise, budda advice, Tiny Tim, but I can't help but notice that this unmaterialistic advice is coming from a guy that just received a PS3 plus over $2,000 worth of presents on this jolly Christmas morning."  He freezes for a moment and then sits up a little straighter (as do I), blinks at me a few times and says,  "Well, I guess if I'm Tiny Time, I better go get my cane."  And we both start to laugh.  He then looks at me with the same perfect, happy smile and adds, "And God bless us, everyone."  And, after looking around the room and at all the people that it holds I do realize that Sam is right.  And even though it sounds corny (and very annoying), all the gifts we need really are right inside of us.

Though I really would have liked a pair of opera glasses, too.

Merry Christmas...and God bless us, everyone.

--Bec (and Tiny Sam)