Gifts

I'm sitting here looking at the Christmas tree. The tree sits in the corner of the living room, near the bookshelf. It's a little crooked, but it makes the angel on top look straight. There are ornament's missing and the tree skirt is behaving very immodestly. I scowl a moment, readjusting the ornaments in my mind.

The kids have done this. They love to sit in the corner, read books, and whisper to each other. A breeze of frustration furrows my brow. But then I look down and see, among the board books and picture books, is the big red Dictionary I've had since college. And I realized: I may not be able to afford to get them the latest and greatest gadgets and toys. But I can give them this: a memory. I started to see our future: They will be in college (Harvard) and too serious about their studies to date, so no boyfriends. They will be home for the holidays and we'd be sitting around the fireplace and one of them would get lost in thought while looking at the Christmas tree.

"Hey, Sister," Lucy might say, "Do you remember when we used to sit behind the Christmas tree?"

We'd all have a laugh and feel very warm. I'm pulled back into the present and begin to reapprise the Christmas Tree Situation. Let it lean.