The year was 1997. Seven-year-old Caleb had a few gifts around the manger scene that year. No, we didn’t have a tree that year. We had a complete cast of ceramic figurines inside a wooden box stable depicting the Christmas story.
But not having a tree is what allowed me to get away with my espionage. Thankfully, the presents were all wrapped and in their proper places.
There were mostly medium-sized presents around the manger scene, but high atop the pile was a very tiny present wrapped so delicately. The ink scribbled across the paper read, “Caleb.”
That evening, as I lay in bed, I decided to find out what that present was – before Christmas morning.
A few days later, the opportunity presented itself. Dad was gone to town, and Mom was in another room, probably making sure my little brother wasn’t putting a lighter to the plastic end of a shotgun shell.
I picked up the tiny present and held it in my hands. I heard footsteps heading into the living room, so I quickly put it back in the same spot, pretending to study the intricate detail of the little ceramic baby Jesus in the manger while contemplating my next move.
The next day, opportunity made its way to my humble abode again. I took the present and made the slightest, tiniest little rip in the wrapping paper.
My heart pounded. I almost fainted at the excitement. I put the present back. I couldn’t do it. The tiny tear looked like the Grand Canyon on that teensy gift. I couldn’t believe what I had done. I flipped the present over to the untorn side. I prayed my parents wouldn’t notice.
Then, the next day came. I picked up the present again. The tear was still there. I slid my fingernail across it, making it slightly larger. At some point, I started hiding the little present behind the stable.
This cautious CIA-level tactic went on for a week. Every day, the slit got bigger and bigger. Eventually, I found out what the present was. On the side of this present was an engraving of a man in a boat in the middle of a lake with his fishing rod bent under the weight of a large bass.
I had asked my parents for a knife for Christmas. And that little present was my very first knife.
I couldn’t wait until Christmas. That Christmas morning, I grabbed that present the first thing. They never knew I had discovered what that little present was.
You might be thinking, “What if your children do that?”
If they can score sneak peeks without this high-level professional noticing, I will applaud them. Besides, what is Christmas without a thorough investigation into every nook and cranny of the house?
An unexciting Christmas, that’s what.
to the children who sneak a peek at presents,
– Caleb
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