Dear Hearts,
Happy Holidays! Yes, the season is in full swing and we're all in it for the joy -- whether it be gifts, gatherings, pageantry, decorations, shopping, and / or delicious treats.
Or, perhaps you're just happy to have a few days off and all you want is a bit of peace and quiet.
We'll not judge.
Either way, here we are -- celebrating Christmas, Hanukkah, Kwanzaa, Winter Solstice, Bodhi Day, and even "Festivus for the Rest of Us".
Those of us who enjoy a visit with Santa to tell him what we would like for Christmas are already working on our wish lists. This annual custom brings to mind a holiday childhood memory which resulted in a lesson that taught me to be very careful about what I wished for:
Buckle up!
I was the ripe old age of five and a happy-go-lucky kindergartner who attended school in the afternoon. Our class was quite large as was the morning kindergarten group. I attended a parochial school in our town the first two years of my elementary academic career. I recall our teacher, Mrs. Brown (not her real name), was young, pretty, and ultra-nice.
We had Show and Tell every Thursday. I loved Show and Tell -- mainly, because I loved attention and this segment of our early education afforded me five minutes of being right at the center of it. Each child was given the opportunity to bring something from home, show it to the class, and talk about it. Most kids brought a favorite toy. Since our class was so large, we were divided into two groups. Group A would get to participate in Show and Tell one week; group B the next; and so on and so forth.
I was in group B.
The week after Christmas was the best. Everyone brought a new toy to class on their respective Thursday. The toys were the latest and greatest. You know . . . the toys that were heavily marketed in Saturday morning commercials: otherwise known as cartoon prime time.
I do not recall ever wishing for this particular gift, but for some reason, Santa felt I deserved a "Tiny Tears" doll for my so-called good behavior that year.
Here's where I confess to you, all my Dear Hearts out there, that I am, and always have been, a crier. Whether I'm happy, sad, inspired, or something hits my funny bone, my eyeballs leak.
Perhaps Santa felt I could relate to this doll, or he decided I needed a taste of my own medicine. Either way, I was fine with it because Tiny came with a bottle you could fill with water, stick it in the hole in the middle of her mouth, and VOILA! Tears would leak out of her little baby doll eyeball ducts.
Magic!
I could not wait to go back to school and bring Tiny to Show and Tell. This was going to be epic!
Alas, I was in Group B, so I had to sit through a jillion other kids showing off their fire engines, cowboy outfits, bouncy balls, yo-yo's, and basic baby dolls.
Just wait until they see mine next week!
But then, it happened. Sally Simpleton (not her real name), who lived on another street in my neighborhood and was in Group A, stood up in front of the class, and whipped out her doll. The entire class gasped! I know what you're thinking, Dear Hearts: you're thinking she brought a Tiny Tears doll.
No . . ..
Sally Simpleton brought a "Betsy Wetsy". Imagine my mortification as Sally demonstrated how to give Betsy a bottle of water and the doll immediately wet her diaper! Sally expertly changed Betsy right in front of the class. The students reacted with thunderous applause. Even Mrs. Brown -- by now, I certainly held on the highest of pedestals -- was impressed!
I went home that afternoon, completely deflated. My five year old id consumed my brain and I now wished I had a more spectacular toy than Tiny Tears as she (and I) would no longer be the star of Show and Tell after Sally's grand display.
Suddenly, an idea came over me. With creative juices flowing, and in a fever-dream-like state, I picked up Tiny,; and with a very sharp object (I don't recall what it was. Scissors?), I poked holes all over her torso.
The next Thursday, when it was Group B's turn to participate in Show and Tell, I asked Mrs. Brown if I could go last. Naturally, she flashed her Sears catalog-worthy smile and replied, "Of course you may." Meanwhile, I kept Tiny covered up with a blanket in her little cradle (Did I mention Sally didn't have a cradle to go with her Betsy Wetsy?).
When the time came for my turn, I proudly marched up in front and stood facing the class. I have never been nervous in front of an audience; in fact, I relished the attention.
But I digress.
Dear Hearts, I pulled a stark naked Tiny out from under her blanket and held her up like Mufasa presenting Simba in "The Lion King" for all to see. I then proceeded to feed Tiny her bottle.
Her bottle of grape kool-aid, that is.
You see, in order to one-up Sally's Betsy Wetsy, I had decided that purple tears would be more dramatic. And with her extra holes, well . . . the more the merrier, right? What I had envisioned - wished for - was an even louder and longer thunderous applause than Sally had received. Instead, Dear Hearts, what I had actually created resulted in a grape kool-aid fountain! It spurted -- nay -- gushed from Tiny's torso all over me, the front row of kids, and -- gasp! -- Mrs. Brown!
It was a disaster. And in that moment, I realized that even though my wish had come true, of sorts (I mean, come on! It was impressive -- just not in the way I'd imagined), Tiny was ruined forever.
These days, I don't wish for much in the way of material objects, or even attention. I still enjoy an audience -- sans my five year old id -- but not for the same reasons; however, public speaking remains one of my favorite activities
As for presents?
I am beyond content with the gift of spending time with family and friends, and would much rather hang with Santa at a coffee shop listening to his stories than ask him for more "stuff".
In closing, Dear Hearts: In this glorious season of celebration, giving and receiving . . . Be careful what you wish for. Happy Holidays!
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