I was cruising through the forums and saw a question about favorite Family Traditions. It took me right back to my childhood and one particular holiday The Christmas Eve traditions in our family were set, and had been for as far back as my memory goes. We had a delicious Christmas Eve Dinner, read the Christmas story in Luke, Chapter 2 and then proceeded to the tree. We were always allowed to open one gift on Christmas Eve. This tradition was in remembrance of the gifts given to our Savior, Jesus, as a babe and toddler. However, there was always one glitch in the process, as far as my mother was concerned anyway.
My father (biological father, Leighton) had the knack of guessing every single gift bought for him, without fail. One year my mother went out of her way to assure this could not happen. Leighton chose a small but heavier gift, disproportionately so. We each opened our gifts and then he opened his. It was ammunition, which was all fine and dandy, except he didn’t have a gun that matched that ammo. So, in Caesar-like fashion, he immediately decreed that we could open one more gift. He picked up the gaily wrapped box he was certain contained the gun and tore the wrapping paper open. No gun. We children had not wasted one single second and were merrily tearing into a second gift before Mom could intervene. Leighton again eyed the presents under the tree and decided it would be okay to open one more. We dived for the presents under the tree and grabbed for a third present, our eyes darting back to our mother. She was laughing too hard at the mounting frustration on Leighton’s face to be concerned about the number of gifts being opened.
Gift after gift was opened until only one remained under the tree. Leighton picked it up and shook it lightly. The rattling sound was enough to puzzle him, but the weight of the box was even more so. He shook his head, ripped the paper off and opened the box to find another box inside. Rolling his eyes, he opened that and, there it was. There was, indeed, a gun . . . and an assortment of corks, hooks, eyes, bolts, washers, an ancient flat iron and peanuts with their shells still on.
My mother won – unfortunately, we’d opened every single gift under the tree in Leighton’s quest to find his new gun. But this went down as the most memorable Christmas Eve ever. At least until I was married and added my own traditions to those of my family’s.