I opened my parents' large shipping box and inside was a troika of gifts, all tightly nestled in bubble wrap. Okay, now I'm excited for Christmas to come. They're not all for me--two other children will be joining us for Christmas, but I'm keen to know what each of the similarly shaped packages is. No other hints and although my husband figured out the nature of the gift, each will be individual, interesting.
I have remarkable parents who celebrate occasions well. As the birthday girl, my mother would prepare my favorite dinner, made sure I had a few presents and a double-layer cake after the meal with just the right amount of candles. When I went through the terrible birthday adjustment from child to adult, that is to say, when I realized that I would have to make my own cake and probably shop for my own presents, and it was likely that most people would have no clue it was my birthday, my parents always came through with an individualized birthday card and a heartfelt sentiment in bold angular or neat looping writing on the inside.
These memories still stream from the annual card like the wispy tails of a sky-slicing jet. And just when this Christmas season has seemed so distant, they have rekindled that most delicious part of childhood: wanting to peek.
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