by Roshan Richards

Created on: December 04, 2008

I Want That

This is my first Christmas as the parent of a child who cares about Christmas. He is three and has discovered a world of toy cars, action figures, trains, race tracks, and board games that have, somehow, not found their way into his toy box yet. And for this, every day, all day, I am bombarded into deafness by the continual phrase of "I want that!" My sweaters are tugged upon until threatening to unravel, my arm has been virtually ripped from its socket as I am drug from toy isle to toy isle, my thumb is making a case for criminal abuse due to aggravated commercial dodging, and I am losing my last shred of sanity all for the sake of "I want that!"

I have endured shoving in retail isles, unkind gestures from fellow drivers wanting my parking spot, huffs and glares from perfect strangers as I triumphantly pull out the entire state's last Tickle Me Elmo from behind a row of Sit-n-Spins, and chest pains that I would swear were a heart attack if it weren't for the kindly Salvation Army lady with collection bucket in tow, who took me by the arm and said, "It's an anxiety attack. Had mine last year." I smiled in gratitude and put in fifty cents. I am beginning to believe that Christmas truly is for children.

Just last week my whole family was getting dressed up for our annual church Christmas party. I was hustling around with my mouth drawn tight and my brow creased in Scrooge-like cheer, with "Where's my coat?" "I can't find my shoes," "Hurry, or we'll be late," ringing throughout the house. I knelt down in exasperation to tie my son's shoe for the third time when he, barely able to control his excitement, said, "Will dere be a cake?"

"What?" I replied, trying to concentrate on the double knot I was making between my thumb and forefinger.
"Will dere be a birfday cake at da party?"
"Why?"
"It's Jesus' birfday. Ya know dat?"
"Yeah." I replied, looking him squarely in his precious, grinning face. I know that now.

We give good gifts. We buy Barbie condos, Transformer action figures, remote control dune buggies, G.I. Joes, and we make sure not to forget the books and clothes, then we wrap all these up in pretty paper and bows and stick them under the Christmas tree. And when the time comes, all wide-eyed and giggling they tear open their gifts in pure glee and play with them- a week, if we're lucky. Disconcerted we say to ourselves, "That must not have been the gift they really wanted. I'll have to pay better attention to what they are saying next year so I can get it right."

Only a few ever do get it right. The "few" discover that it isn't the bicycles, water guns, action figures, Pound Puppies, computers, jewelry making kits, telescopes, Hot Wheels, video games, or books or clothes or any one thing that gives their children what they have been seeking. The "few" realize that it is an understanding of what Christmas is really about that is the true gift. "And all thy children shall be taught of the Lord; and great shall be the peace of thy children." (Isaiah 54:13). Peace. What greater gift can we give to our children than peace? I want that.

(Article originally published in The Belle Plaine Union, Christmas 1996) modified.

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