The Perfect Gift

The Perfect Gift



         He was lying in his bed, pouting. He’d seen his mom’s face when he’d told her he wanted a cell phone for Christmas. He’d seen that look before when he asked for something she couldn’t afford; sadness, mixed with a touch of fear.

         Of course he wouldn’t hate her for not buying him a phone, but a part of him resented her. Why couldn’t she have gone to college and gotten herself a better job that paid more money? It seemed like all his friends had moms who were nurses or worked in dental offices and bought their kids whatever they wanted. They all had cell phones. But his mother hadn’t gone to college.

         He sighed and closed his eyes. A tear slid down one cheek and he wiped it away angrily. He was ten year old and only babies cried. He rolled to one side of the bed and stared at the snow globe on his dresser. His mom had made it for him for Christmas when he was five. Inside, she had placed a picture of the two of them. In the picture, she was looking down at him, smiling, with one arm wrapped around his shoulders. He was oblivious as he smiled at the camera, his two missing front teeth revealed by his wide grin.

         She always set it on his dresser every year for Christmas. It had always been his favorite present because he was never able to figure out how his mom had gotten the picture in the globe without getting it wet. He would ask her every year how she did it and she would always tell him she was magical.

         But tonight his mom didn’t seem very magical. How could she get a photograph inside water without getting it wet, but couldn’t produce a common cell phone?  He was angry with her and didn’t want to see her face, so he drug himself out of bed and shoved the snow globe into the top dresser drawer. He slipped back into bed, pulling the covers over his head and laid there until the darkness lulled him to sleep.

         He awoke to the sound of something scurrying about the floor of his room. His eyes flew open and he rolled to his stomach, his eyes searching the floor for the source of the noise. It was closer to his bed now, scratching. Cautiously peering over the edge of the bed, he spotted three little white mice looking up at him from beady little eyes that glowed in the dark. They didn’t run if fear, but smiled at him, revealing tiny little teeth. He grinned at them and reached down to pet them.

         As his hand neared the floor, the mice jumped onto the back of it and hopped up his arm. He rolled to his back, resting his head against his pillow and the mice settled themselves on his chest. They sat for a few seconds staring at one another before of the mice inched his way over to the boy’s ear.

         “Hello,” the little mouse squeaked.

         “Hello,” the boy replied and the little mice covered their ears.

         “You have to whisper,” said the mouse closest to his ear.

         “Sorry,” the boy whispered in response.

         “We want to show you something. Will you come with us?” the mouse asked and the boy nodded his head. He wouldn’t miss this for the world.

         He slipped his feet into the slippers at the foot of his bed as the mice made their way across the floor and under the door of his closet. He frowned, not sure what was in the closet they would want him to see. Clothes hung on rods on each side, brushing against him as he followed.

After just a few steps, he found he had left the closet and was now standing in an unfamiliar room. He turned to look back and the closet was gone. All that faced him was a blank wall. He turned back around to look for the mice, but they were gone.

He didn’t recognize this room. It was small, with one small dresser and one twin bed, neatly made. It didn’t appear to be a child’s room at first and he never would have known it was one if it hadn’t been for the doll on the pillow. There was a small jewelry box on the dresser filled with trinkets he’d seen in arcades for fifty cents.

Where was the TV, the video games, the stereo? He wrinkled his nose in disapproval. He would hate to have to live like this as a kid. Just as he was pondering the things she might do for fun, he heard a giggle from the other room.

He tiptoed over to the doorway, not sure if he would be thrown out for trespassing. He barely peeked around the corner and there he saw a girl about his own age standing in front of a Christmas tree, smiling and looking at all the ornaments. Under the tree there were three presents. He was shocked. Only three presents and the girl was happy?

He could hear her parents in the next room. It sounded like they were fixing coffee. When they entered the room, his jaw dropped. He recognized them at once as his grandparents. They were much younger, but definitely his grandparents, which meant this girl was his mother!

He watched his mother give her parents their presents. She sat on the floor in front of them and on the count of three, they all began opening their presents. He chuckled softly while his grandpa made a loud, growling noise like a bear while ripping the paper off the present. His grandma softly hummed as she daintily unwrapped her gift, being careful not to rip, wrinkle, or damage the paper in any way.

He turned back to look at his mom, who had unwrapped her gift and was smiling at it, turning it in her hands. It was a wooden fairy. The wings stood up and out as if the fairy were in mid flight and in it’s hand was a magic wand. The fairy dress was painted green, with glitter specks covering it. It was his mom’s favorite ornament, the one her dad had carved and mom had painted.

Grandpa asked how she liked her present and instead of answering her father, she looked up and directly at the boy and said, “It’s wonderful to get presents that have so much love and so much time put into them. No one anywhere on earth will ever have anything that’s like this, so I feel really special.”

He jerked backwards from the shock of her speaking to him and fell backwards. He landed on something soft and when he opened his eyes, found himself back in his room. He wondered if it had just been a dream. Her words echoed in his ears and he got out of bed and removed his snow globe from the drawer, placing it back on his dresser.

He stared at it for a moment, remembering how his mom had loved her fairy ornament and thinking of how much he’d loved his snow globe. She had been right, they were one of a kind, priceless gifts that on one else on earth would ever have and his desire for a cell phone vanished. He would much rather have something unique for Christmas.

He crept out into the hall, peering around the corner and saw his mom asleep on the couch. He went to her side and looked at her, smiling. Oh how she loved him and he felt bad for resenting her earlier. Other kids complained about having parents who ignored them, but his mom and he were best friends and for that he was extremely grateful.

He leaned down and hugged her and she awoke with a start.

“What’s wrong? Are you ok?” she asked as she sat up frantically.

“I’m fine, mom. I just wanted a hug.” He replied, crawling up on the couch to sit by her.

“You scared me,” she sighed, wrapping her arm around him.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, snuggling in closer to her.

They sat, staring at the lights on the Christmas tree for a minute before he spotted the fairy ornament. He went to the tree and took the fairy from its branch and returned to his mother’s side. She smiled as the boy examined the ornament.

“The year Grandpa made that, he had lost his job,” my mother began and I listened intently. “He took any odd job he could to support his family and the money he made barely covered the bills. He didn’t have any extra money that year for Christmas, so he cut some branches from our tree and whenever he had a minute to spare between pumping gas or shoveling snow or whatever else he did, he would carve the branches. Just knowing that he spent that much time just so I could have a present was the best gift of all. The gift of time and love beats anything any day.”

He sat there for a moment, thinking about what his mom said and imagining his grandpa whittling the branches.

“Mom,” he said and turned to look at her. “I don’t think I want a cell phone for Christmas anymore.”

“Really?” his mom asked, surprise in her voice.

“Really. I think I’d rather have you make me something,” he smiled, “I don’t really like fairies, but I like dragons.”

That year the boy got a dragon that his mom modeled out of clay and painted for him. He also got a cell phone, but neither gift meant as much as the real gift he received that Christmas; the gift of giving of oneself with time and love.