I was eleven and the Christmas tree was set up and some of the presents where already under the tree. My grandmother had just been to our house (the day before) to drop off the presents from her. My parents weren't home and the kids (siblings) were napping.
I kneel on the floor and look through the presents to find the one with my name on it. I find it and am curious as to why it is so small. It feels light as air, like nothing is in it but paper. Curiosity peeked as bad as "What prize is in the Cracker Jacks?!" I run to the door, look out the peep hole, nobody is coming. I go to the kitchen with the big window and scan the whole area, still nobody is coming. I still have this light as air present in my hands. I knew what I was thinking was wrong and if I got caught I was going to get a whipping. I just couldn't resist the curiosity, it was too strong.
I had seen daddy do this many times, I knew I could do it to. I ever so gently pulled on the tape, trying real hard not to tear the paper. My heart is pounding in my ears, the excitement was giving me a adrenaline rush, but the fear was ALMOST enough to make me stop. I didn't of course. I felt like I was moving in slow motion and breathing was too much noise. I get it peeled off and every so quietly unfold the edge.
It is something green and crocheted. My heart sank, I was so disappointed it wasn't something fun or fashionable, but still I just had to know what my grandmother had thought I would want. Maybe it is a dress for my doll, that would be neat. (Yes, I still played with dolls) My mind went all over the place, trying to think what it could be. I wasn't going to pull it out of the wrapping, for fear that I would never get it back in. Before I could stick to my plan, I was pulling it out!
SLIPPERS! The ugliest things I had even seen! Even the color of the green was sickening. They were two rectangular strips sewn together, they pointed at the toes!
Today, I could kick my eleven year old butt. Not knowing then that that was going to be the last present I ever got from my Grandmother. Not because she was gone. No, we were gone, we moved from Maine to Texas eight months later. I only saw her two times after that, at 18 and again at 25. She passed two years ago at the age of 92.
The point of my story is...Love your family, TODAY! Appreciate their efforts, even if you don't really like it. You never know what the future holds.
Ps...In the writing of this memory, the realization of this being her last present swept over me and of course changed my ending. No, I didn't get caught