Can you wrap a dream in gift wrap and give it to someone? Can you tie up hopes in red satin bows and make them come true? The Christmas of 1961 my parents found gifts that were the key to my dreams and changed my frozen heart to one filled with optimism.
Christmas of 1961 was cold and bitter, but I seldom felt its frigid bite because my heart was enclosed in a casing of ice. It was my senior year of high school, but I had allowed one decision (to not go out for pep club) to warp my whole year. It had appeared to be a simple choice, based on the fact that I didn’t care for sports and I had responsibilities at home. However that one choice had drastically changed relations between my friends and me. Furthermore it had changed how I viewed my future.
My friends went to school early to practice for pep club. They stayed afterwards for the games and activities. I walked to school by myself, hid in the library at lunch, studied during the pep rallies and pretended that I was happy. My friends planned excitedly to go away to this or that college, while I began to question whether college for me was an impossible dream. Rather than mention my fears, I withdrew from the few activities that I still participated with my friends in, and embraced my resentment like a prickly hair shirt. When my friends filled their wish lists with luggage and clothes for their college life, I didn’t even dare make a wish list.
It was more than pep club that divided me from my friends that year, but pep club was an easy scapegoat. My older brother had left for a mission for our church which put an economic strain on our family, but my mother’s failing health spelled doom to my dreams of college. My dreams of going away to college seemed selfish and impossible.
Perhaps if I had talked about how much college meant to me it would have been different, but I couldn’t. I was terrified if I said one word about college, the bitter truths that ruled my life at home would shatter my hopes like brittle glass. It was easier to hold the pain inside, letting it freeze my hopes and distort my attitude. I became secretive and resentful. Rather than enjoying the season, I made life miserable for everyone.
When Dad offered to take me shopping, I griped that I had too much to do. When Mother asked what I wanted for Christmas, I snapped back, "Why even ask? We can’t afford anything anyway!" My younger brother and sisters quieted in my presence, fearful I’d bite their heads off as sport. Eventually most of my friends began to avoid me.
My mother knew that I was unhappy, but I obstinately refused to tell her what had blighted my life. Perhaps I felt that it would be one more heavy burden for her to carry so I refused to let on how much college meant to me. My sweet mother with her gentle smile and unselfish heart had quit high school to support her family when her father died during the Great Depression. She was very intelligent, but she had never even been able to finish high school. In some unexplainable manner, previously I felt that I needed to get an education both for myself and for her. Now that my college dreams seemed impossible, I buried my hopes beneath a surly attitude and made myself miserable. I knew no one could find the key to unlock my dreams.
That Christmas morning dawned cold and clear. I growled when the younger kids tried to entice me to see what Santa had brought because I knew that what I wanted most could not be found under a Christmas tree. But I was wrong.
Santa hadn’t left a bushel of expensive trinkets for any of us. But my parents, with perception and hope had unlocked my heart with two unique and special gifts—a small bound book of Emily Dickenson’s poetry and a vinyl soundtrack of my favorite musical, Carnival. I looked at my mother and began to cry.
“How did you know I loved Emily Dickenson?” I sobbed.“I called all your friends until I found out what you’d been talking to them about. You’ve always wanted to be a writer, and Sharon told me that your favorite poet was Emily Dickenson. The book will be useful when you begin your English studies at college next fall. Linda told me that you loved Broadway musicals. I hope you like the one I picked out; maybe it will do until you see one on Broadway someday.”
My dad was mumbling about the gifts he wished he could have given me. He said that when he won the lottery he’d buy me bushels of Janzten sweaters. But I didn’t hear him.
Through my tear-filled eyes, I could see their vision for me. It was a vision that I hadn’t dared dream about—that my mother would not live long enough to see.
Gifts are merely symbols of what we would really like to give others. For how can you wrap love inside silver paper? How can you place a red satin bow around dreams? How can you gift someone with hope and confidence? That Christmas my mother had searched for the key to my dreams. And she had succeeded.
