My older brother Tom and I would patiently wait for our mom and dad to step out for awhile so we could start our adventure. We would search high and low. Often my brother Tom would suggest we split up so we could search more places. I suspected he already new where the cache of gifts was hidden. He just wanted me out of the way so he could figure out what was in the boxes wrapped in festive paper. Later, he would tell me he had no luck and the shopping for presents hadn't been done yet. Such a lame attempt. I reminded him I was the one who had all A's on the last report card from school.
I followed him to the top of the stairs and turned right toward the attic door. But Tom turned left, toward our parents bedroom. "Oh no" I thought, "We can't go in there." Our parents bedroom was strictly of limits to us. If the goods were in there, we might never see them. Our dad might decide to keep this years toys for himself. He could play with them any time in his bedroom and we would never know. We would get socks and underwear. I didn't want socks and underwear!
"C'mon", said Tom. Beads of sweat began to form on my brow, I couldn't stop now that we were so close. I stepped into my parents bedroom. My brother went straight for the closet as if he had been here before and already knew exactly where the treasure was hidden. "Go listen for mom and dad," he told me.
"Just give them a shake and let's go back downstairs," I said. "Mom and dad could be home any second."
My brother would not be swayed. He examined the biggest box. Like Indiana Jones, rubbing the stubble on his chin, calculating just the right amount of sand necessary to replace the golden idol without triggering certain doom. (This was long before Indiana Jones graced the silver screen) Carefully Tom tugged at the tape holding the wrapping paper, trying hard not to tear it. RIP! A small tear appeared. Could that be fixed so as to be unnoticeable? My brother wouldn't stop now, so close to knowing. So close. Then, bang. A car door slammed and we could hear the back gate creak as it swung open. They were home!
I must confess, I panicked and fled for the stairs, leaving my brother behind to face the music alone. I jumped the last three steps and landed at the bottom of the staircase with a loud thump. The back door opened, my parents were laughing as they stomped the snow from their shoes. They had just been to the grocery store for some last minute items for Christmas dinner. My grandma was very particular about her ingredients for her Waldorf salad.
I thought, maybe I could delay them in the kitchen and give my brother more time to make repairs and get downstairs. "Uhm, how did it go?"
"Fine," said mom. "Where is your brother?"
I was caught. Snooping was one thing but lying was another. It wasn't a leap I was ready to make. I hung my head. "He's..."
"Right here," said my brother, standing behind me.
"Yeah," I repeated, "He's right here."
"Help get the groceries from the car," she told us. "And take out the trash, tomorrow is pick up day."
I asked my brother about the big box later when we went to bed, but he wouldn't tell me what he had seen inside the wrapping paper. No matter how I begged. I assumed he didn't know, just wanted me to think he did. All he would say is, "It's going to be a good Christmas this year."
That year I received a big, yellow Tonka Dump truck. It came in a big box. The wrapping paper on the end was ripped and the tape barely held on. No matter. I tore the evidence to shreds when I unwrapped the gift with a child's enthusiasm. One of many great childhood memories.
Until tomorrow,
Ken
