The Christmas Gift
By Lin
The shriek was all the announcement we needed to
say he was up and ready to go. With a sleepy smile, Sarah threw back the warm
covers.
"Looks like it's show time," she said as
she made a grab for her robe in the semidarkness.
"We'd better hurry or there won't be anything
left under the tree," I grinned as I got out of bed. A glance at the clock
told me it was five am. He let us sleep in this year.
Downstairs, Charlie was framed in the living room
door, waiting impatiently. His soft brown hair stood out in tufts. Hopping from
one foot to another, eyes shining, he was practically vibrating with
excitement.
"Come on, come on. It's Christmas!" he
exclaimed as we reached the bottom of the stairs. He rushed to the tree,
skidding on his knees the last couple of feet.
Sarah went to get the camera while I headed to the
kitchen for coffee. Charlie was crawling under the branches of the tree when we
came back; his pajama clad body entwined with the brightly wrapped gifts to
create a colorful display of satiny paper, gleaming bows, and fuzzy red
flannel.
"Come on out from under there, buckaroo. How
am I supposed to separate the presents if you're laying on them?" That had
him out in two seconds flat. Silver tinsel hung from his left ear.
"Wow, look at all the stuff Santa
brought." He was bouncing with anticipation, his grin threatening to split
his face. I ruffled his hair before turning to the task at hand.
One by one, in a deep solemn voice, I read off the
tags on each gift. With a giggle, Charlie took each one from my hand and piled
them according to who each gift was for. Not surprisingly, his pile exceeded
the other two by quite a bit. Once the last gift had been distributed, Charlie
fell to his knees tearing into the nearest box.
I sat back and sipped my cooling coffee. Sarah was
laughing as Charlie ripped the beautiful Christmas wrap from a set of Lincoln
Logs. He yelled in delight and hugged the toy to his chest. She snapped a
picture. Box after box was savagely opened. Each revealed gift was greeted with
the same noisy enthusiasm. Too soon, the pile was reduced to one last gift
surrounded by a sea of torn paper.
The wrapping on the last present was soon
dispensed with. The long narrow box was opened. For a moment, the house was
silent as he stared down at the gift. With a look of wonder on his face, he
slowly drew out the telescope. Tearing his gaze away from his prize, he turned
his amazed face my way.
"Do you like it?" I asked, a little
uncomfortable with the silence. He always enjoyed our star gazing sessions. I
though he would be thrilled with his own telescope, a miniature of mine.
Carefully setting the telescope down on the floor,
he sprang across the room. Throwing himself into my arms, he said, "Thanks
Daddy. It's the best Christmas gift ever!"
"I'm glad you like it, buddy," I
whispered into his hair as I hugged his small body to mine. A flash of light
said Sarah caught this moment on film, but I knew I wouldn't need a photograph
to remember today. The
feel of the body warmed pajamas, the tickle of
baby fine hair against my cheek, the smell of shampoo and little boy mixed with
the sound of his laughter created a more vivid mental picture than Kodak ever
could.
Snuggling my son for just a minute longer, I
couldn't help but agree with him. This was the best Christmas gift ever.
Some moments are permanently etched in the mind.
Every sight, sound, and smell is preserved, frozen in crystal clarity. A bubble
of time caught, a memory suspended, like an ant in amber. When the erosion of
years has worn away all else, these precious seconds stand untouched by the
carving hands of the clock. One perfect moment forever alive.