Christmas in our house was a regal affair. My parents pulled out all the stops, only to be outdone by themselves (and only themselves) the next year. We had a huge living room in my childhood home and it would be completely wallpapered with gifts from floor to ceiling. It was our holiday, completely magical. My parents also included us children in the purchasing of gifts for each other, making us feel special to be in on the secret. They would try to bring the element of surprise into their relationship with crazy Christmas presents that would be filled with humor and love.
It was in 1979 (I believe), when my mother purchased my father a sword for Christmas This very medieval looking sword in a blue velvet sheath. It was curved and pretty darn cool. This sword was so long and so strangely shaped, that my mother had to create a customized box (made of several boxes taped together), and then she wrapped it and put a big bow on it. I tried drawing this out and this was the best I could do:
This was such a big deal in our house. My mother hemmed and hawed over this present, making sure everything was just right. She loved the anticipation of my dad wondering what was in the box and having something to hold over him for the last five days prior to Christmas. I, personally, loved being in on the secret and was just as excited as my mom. So, a few evenings left before the eventful day, my mother set the box out under the tree. As expected, my dad carried on and on about the strange looking present and what could it possibly be? My mom just laughed and walked into the other room. At this point, dad and I sat looking at the present, looking at the tree. He turns to me and says, "Bridgie, what is it? What is in the box?", I am playing this back in my mind in slow motion (my voice sounds like Andre the Giant) "It's a swooooorddddddddddd.". My dad blinks, kind of dumbfounded that I actually spilled it so easy. He grins and says something along the lines of the secret would be between us.
EXCEPT, it hits me the next evening when we are sitting down to dinner. I start to have an anxiety attack. I tell my mother I don't feel good and make up some excuse about hurting my thumb or something along those lines, something to cover up the true reason that I am teary eyed. Finally I just say it... "I told him.". My mother says "Hm?", and I say it again, "I told him. I told dad his present.". Now dad just sits there looking bewildered and somewhat innocent. My mother starts to have a bit of a meltdown, "WHAT?!?!?!? You told your dad about one of his presents?!?!", and then she follows that with something that only my mother would do. She starts listing off everything she bought dad for Christmas one by one... "The monopoly game? The robe? The backgammon set?...", I just keep shaking my head no. Mom spills the list in it's entirety and then, the very last thing she says...in a quiet voice.."The sword?", and I shamefully nodded my head. In this moment, this interrogation period, my anxiety level fizzled like a balloon slowly losing air. I felt better, my mother at some point traded her June Cleaver look for something a little bit more Cruella De Vil.
I don't recall whether or not my mother was cautious about including me in on future "secrets", but the lesson was learned. The only other recollection of this I have was walking into a conversation my dad was having with his brother on Christmas morning, laughingly describing my confession and my mother's spilling response. That was my first experience with guilt. It felt like crap.
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