I was a one-big-thing kind of kid. Many of my friends produced annual litanies of Christmas wants, long lists for Santa well beyond the believing years. My style was to hold out for a single, impossible gift.
"What do you want for Christmas this year?" Mom would ask.
"All I want is _______________." When I was seven it was a horse, of course.
"Where are we going to keep him?" Mom asked. "In the garage?" My second-grade brain imagined that as not such a bad place for a horse to live, and dad would no longer have to mow the lawn and we never parked the cars in there anyway and I'd take care of him, I promised. Each Christmas thereafter, I asked for something I had little hope of getting. Some years, I came close. The year I asked for skis, for example, I got lessons instead, which included a bus ride to the mountain every Saturday. I had to pay for my own equipment rental, but I was thrilled nonetheless. The following year, I asked for the lessons again and got them, then bought the skis myself, from J.C. Penney, with money I'd saved picking berries and babysitting. I knew most years that my one-big-thing was often just out of my parents' budgetary reach (and, looking back, I realize that may have broken their hearts some). I asked anyway, but was never too disappointed when I did not get what I'd requested.
My junior year in high school, I wanted a stereo. I had it picked out; it was an Onkyo, pretty high end, with separate components, and a cassette player. It was expensive, and would have taken years to save for on teenage wages. The stereo of my dreams was more than pie in the sky. It was an entire bakery in the stratosphere. I asked anyway, but only once, humbly and contrite, with the disclaimer, "I know there's no way, but that is all I want. So if you want to skip this year, and maybe pay half next year, and I could pay the other half, and that could be my present for two years-- I really can't think of anything else I want."
That Christmas, I opened my gifts -- a nice collection of clothes, pajamas, socks, lotions and ornaments. Most of it I already knew. My mom was terrible at keeping Christmas secrets. She'd always divulge the best gifts well before the big day, unable to contain herself. She'd done so with the ski lessons. And the hot wheels I got when I was ten. So I knew when I unwrapped the last of the packages under the tree that was it, and I was content. My dad rose from the couch, Christmas toddy in hand. He stretched and wandered toward the tree, then veered to an adjacent chair and reached behind it with his free hand, careful not to spill his "coffee."
"It looks like we missed one," he said, and handed me a two-foot rectangular package with no ribbon or bow.
"I shook it, weighed it in my hands. Silent, and impossibly light, it felt like nothing.
"What is it?"
"Open it," he said.
"Go ahead," said Mom. Dad looked smug, like he'd just pulled off the ultimate heist. The two of them stood close, hovering. I ripped off the paper. Inside was an empty, plastic box missing one side.
"What is it?" I asked.
"We wanted to get you the stereo," dad said, his tone solemn, "but that's the only part we could afford. We figured we'd start with that, and get the rest later, piece by piece."
I looked more closely at the flimsy object in my lap. It was the cover to a turntable. My sixteen-year-old brain imagined it sitting atop the entire system. "Thanks!" I meant it, instantly saw the potential and began mulling which component I'd save for next, then next. It didn't seem odd to me that the store would sell them just the cover. They really had tried their best to get me what I wanted for Christmas. I was genuinely grateful and completely clueless.
The two of them burst with laughter.
"What?"
"You believe that?" asked Dad. I was stumped. A stupid look must have overtaken my face. "The rest of it is under our bed."
I sat there, frozen, staring at them, then down at the cover, then back at them.
"Go!" they said together, smiling-- big, rascally, mischievous Cheshire grins. I jumped up from the floor and sprinted down the hall. BEST CHRISTMAS EVER!
Merry Christmas, everyone. A hui hou. Aloha!
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