Keeping the Peace

It was a legitimate question. “What do you want for Christmas?”

As was my answer. “World peace. But I know that's not going to happen in my lifetime.”

Mom just sighed. She should have expected such an answer, and I'm pretty sure she feels the same. But she's my mom, and it's one of her motherly duties to sigh whenever I get sarcastic. Which is pretty often.

But sometimes she knows exactly how to respond to my sarcasm. “That's too bad,” she said. “If that's all you want and it's unattainable, I guess there will be no presents under the tree with your name on them this year.”

“And some underwear, and some socks,” I said, too quickly, without thinking. Such a flippant remark wasn't going to make either one of us feel better. So I swallowed my arrogance and told her, “I'm sorry. That wasn't nice.”

She shook her head slightly as if to signal agreement. “Then what do you say we start again?”

“Okay.” I hadn't thought of anything that I really wanted or needed, so I told her, “The only thing I really want is what I already have.”

“Meaning?”

“A mother and father who love me.”

She studied my face for a moment as though she were assessing the adequacy of my answer. “But not a brother?”

I had to think about that for a moment. My brother and I hadn't been getting along, but I knew it was important to my parents that we at least tried. “And a brother,” I said.

Mom nodded her head in approval and hugged me.

“But,” I added, “only if you don't tell him that.”