Sparkling, beautiful, it was so large that it surrounded me and everything. There aren’t proper word to describe quite how enchanting this gift was, but I’ll try.
***
I remember, way back when, when my father actually remembered Christmas enough to give me cash and a typed note in a generic card. What I got was $100, cash, and his sincere apology that he missed getting his mind wrapped around the notion that Christmas was for children, that I was one, and therefore the onus lay upon him to provide something. Then we went amongst our usual business.
That used to be the best day since back before I could remember. Since the time during toddlerhood that I got so many presents, when I fell asleep in the wrapping paper he and my uncle couldn’t find me.
***
This time, this perfect present didn’t come from my father. Or a lover or a friend. It came from me.
They say, ‘if you want something done right, do it yourself’.
This post is a response to the {W}rite-of-Passage challenge. See more by clicking the linky, below:
