The Writing Machine

Stories by Christian Cloud Abraham

The Most Dangerous Gift of All

MEMOIR PROJECT ROUGH DRAFT

On Christmas Eve, 1979, my mom and new dad dimmed the lights, turned on the tree, and sat me down on the couch. My new dad talked to me about being a young boy living out in the country and how important it is I have a friend. At the end of the short monologue, my new dad leaned over the arm of the couch and picked something up.

When my new dad leaned over the arm of the couch, he reached into a box for a gift of epic emotional importance for a boy. The ultimate gift for a boy like me. A gift that I could treasure above all other gifts. An irreplaceable gift. A gift that if you intend to give this gift, you intend to create an environment to sustain this gift for many years to come. A gift you give and cannot take back. Reaching into that box, my new dad meant to give me a gift that said he loved me. In that moment he did love me, and his gift made it clear. But he failed to look into the future well enough, to really think of what our future held and that it would be impossible to keep this gift. He failed to think through what it could mean to me should I lose this gift and how he would handle this event. But it is so hard to deny the powerful emotions of wanting to give something so wonderful. Any obstacles seem far off in the distance and easily overcome when they do arrive. The responsibility seems easy when the chemicals of comfort and joy are released as the fantasy of the joy that will come from giving the gift is played out in the mind. People do this every day with gifts such as this one. They don’t think ahead. He didn’t think ahead far enough. And to a sensitive little boy like myself, this was the most dangerous gift of them all.

When my new dad turned back my way, he smiled a warm, excited-parent smile, and said, “Merry Christmas.” In his hands he held a tiny black puppy. “Merry Christmas,” my mom echoed. I was so overjoyed I couldn’t speak. I carefully took the kicking, wiggling, black puppy into my arms, and when he licked my face with puppy kisses, I started giggling and fell instantly in love. “Thanks mom,” I said. I turned to my new dad, “Thanks dad.” And I meant it when I said dad. My parents beamed, especially my new dad. “You’re welcome. Merry Christmas,” they replied.

My puppy slept in my room on Christmas Eve and whimpered on the floor until I let him up on the bed. In the morning, I got my second present: a stinking warm steamer on the carpet in the middle of the room (and as I wrote this, a wafting smell of poo momentarily passed through my olfactory system even though there is no poo in this room that I’m aware of).

What a wonderful Christmas day that was. Flannel pajamas, a cozy mobile home, and lots of gifts including a 150-In-One electronic project set from Radio Shack, a vibrating football game, and another killer gift that was the perfect companion to go with a boy in the country and his new dog: a B.B. gun. And did I mention I got a puppy! I got a puppy! I didn’t know what to call the puppy yet, but I got a puppy and name or no name, my puppy made me laugh all morning chewing on my toes, running around the house, sliding on the linoleum kitchen floor, tearing up the wrapping paper, and finally pulling over the Christmas tree by trying to eat the string of popcorn wrapped around the tree.

END
© 2006 Christian Cloud Abraham

Posted on December 6, 2006 in
Emotion: Elation, Type: Creative Nonfiction