The Gift

Have you ever received a gift you will never forget? something so impressive, or so touching it never leaves your memory ? Well, I have, and that's what this post is about.
Oh, by the way; the only correlation between "firefighting" and this post is that an utter lack of firefighting may be what ultimately led to me receiving "the gift". I realize that needs more explanation, so here goes.

 The story of  "the gift" actually begins on Halloween of the previous year.
On Halloween night,  our home mysteriously burned to the ground.
The only reason suspicion did not immediately fall on either me or  my two younger brothers (my co-conspirators, as my Father referred to them.) was that we had been dragged to church several hours before by our jailers, or as we referred to them, "mom and dad". Halloween had fallen on a Wednesday that year, and the church had done it's part to ensure the safety of our small community by keeping the three us off the streets. I'm sure the citizens of our little community were very grateful.
There's very little excitement to be had at a church Halloween party, the only exception being the brief period during which Howard Schnotz, the kid with narcolepsy, was bobbing for apples. For a few brief moments the tension was so thick you could have cut it with a knife.
It was on the drive home that things really became heated( pun intended).We were stopped at the end of our road by a volunteer firefighter with a flashlight. " You can't go up there ma'am." he told my Mother, " There's a house on fire." I perked up at this.  A house on fire? I thought. well, that's exciting.
 I naively wondered which of our two neighbor's houses were on fire. I can now remember seeing in my mother's expression that she had crunched these same numbers too, and didn't like the odds. Without saying a word, she slammed on the gas, careening around the young man's pick-up truck. The next thing I knew, we were standing in our own front yard, watching everything we had go up in flames. The volunteer fire department that serviced our area had stopped at the sign which signalled the limit of their territory, and were watching the house burn... fifty feet from the end of our driveway.

Time travel not having been invented yet, I was momentarily spared from the suspicion of arson, although I do remember my father staring at me for an uncomfortable period of time with what could only be described as a cool, calculating look.
Because it was Halloween, or maybe some other factor, the cause of the fire was ruled  " suspicious". Because it was ruled suspicious, the insurance company refused to pay. Because the insurance refused to pay, we were acutely poor.

Acutely poor isn't nearly as bad as you might think, and in no time at all, we were no longer living with family, or wearing hand me downs left by a malicious band of color blind leprechauns. My Father worked his hands to the bone just to be able to buy a small, 2 bedroom construction style trailer to replace the home we lost, all while he and my mother attended nursing school full time. The trailer was haphazardly pulled-up onto our small three acre tract, my brother's shared one room, my parents the other. I slept on the couch in what we euphemistically called the " living room". we all shared the single bathroom.

Though we didn't know it at the time, my father was struggling with a tremendous amount of fatherly guilt. The meager Christmas from the year of the "Burn", the claustrophobic surroundings, and the loss of our entire stock of toys weighed heavily on his mind. And so, without saying a word, my Father scrimped and saved, pooling every extra penny. His secret agenda - A Christmas so grand as to leave an indelible print on his son's memory, and blot out their present misery with it's wondrous excess.

As the countdown to Christmas began, my father's excitement was contagious. A mysterious series of events tweaked our enthusiasm. A lock appeared on the door to the shed, and the Warden... err.. I mean Dad, could often be seen hurrying from his small S-10 pick-up to the shed, arms laden with packages. He would eventually return to the house empty handed, but jovial.
There were Advent calendars with our names in them, Christmas movies every night, Hot chocolate, ginger bread houses, nativity sets, and a tree that threatened to engulf the television, nay; the whole living room!  It's red bows accentuated the merrily twinkling lights that kept time with the hearts of three young boys.
Words don't adequately describe the level of our excitement. And even though we didn't really believe in Santa Claus, we knew this Christmas was special.

That Christmas Eve, after my Father read " 'Twas the night before Christmas" ,  I was told I would be sleeping in the top bunk of my brother's tiny room. My brothers had already nestled snugly in the bottom bunk, and were snoring soundly in no time. Shortly thereafter, hushed sounds began to emanate from the living room. The rustling of paper, assorted clinks and thumps, and  muffled chuckles, suddenly, something heavy made a muffled thud, and all was quiet for a few minutes.
The suspense was driving me crazy!!
I was only 12, and I was never going to be able to sleep!!! I wondered what my parents were doing in the other room, what gifts they were bringing in from the shed, what they could possibly be assembling and wrapping. My thoughts ran to every childish fantasy I had. In my minds eye, the living room filled with everything from dirtbikes, to electronic video games.Somehow, in the midst of the chaotic happy thoughts, the anticipation and the excitement, I finally fell asleep.
I awoke to the sounds of my brothers excited cries. As the family filtered into the living room, I rubbed the sleep from my eyes, and joined them. In the tiny living room, there was hardly anywhere to stand, much less sit down!!! Every square inch of floor, every flat surface, was covered with presents! There were tall skinny presents, short fat presents, bicycles with big bows tied to the handle bars, pellet guns with no wrapping at all.
Now before we could touch anything, we were required to open our prerequisite box of t-shirts and underwear. This was the only method mom had at her disposal for ensuring her boys had enough clean underwear. I later learned clean underwear; for whatever reason, was of prime importance to a mother of " teenagers." I can't remember the number of times she asked me on my way out-the-door, " do you have on CLEAN underwear?!" The woman was obsessed.
Anyways, the underwear unwrapped; my father, in his red, crushed velvet santa cap began the gift distribution. " This one's for Chris!" he exclaimed, and "here's one for Joe!" He moved back and forth in a flurry of activity, calling my brother's names over and over again.

As the bicycles, pellet guns, and " Gi-Joe" toys disappeared, I began to notice an alarming trend. NONE of the gifts WERE MINE!!! and then Dad picked up the last present,  " this one is.... Hmmm... " he shot me a knowing smile. I grinned back-  " loooooks like .... " My little heart lept in my chest! at last! " yep, hmmmm, There you go .... CHRIS!!"  My brother momentarlily vanished in a cloud of shredded wrapping paper and tinsel, feverishly opening the last gift.

 Beads of sweat formed along my upper lip, my eyes became misty... a thousand thoughts flashed through my mind. " Had they decided I was too OLD for Christmas?!" I had long feared something like that could be possible.  " What if my parents have never really loved me, anyways?" I thought, or  " WHAT IF THEY FOUND OUT ABOUT....?!?!  Nah, there's no way they could have known about that.
I fought back a sniffle. I couldn't believe this. No presents for me ? How could this be ?

I stared forlornly after my brothers as they tore out the door on their brand new bicycles, honking the horn on the handlebars,wildly shooting their pellet guns into the air. This wasn't fair. I clutched my t-shirts and underwear tightly, wringing them into a ball.

" Phillip." I heard my father say my name, and I turned around to see him standing there grinning. " I didn't forget you son! I saved the best for last!"
Renewed hope sprang up within me, and fueled my young imagination again. " HE said the BEST!!! " I thought.He said The BEST...What could it possibly be?!!"
"You're gonna be SO surprised!  " Dad said, striding down the hallway. " Wait right here, I'll be back in a sec!"

After a moment, Dad returned holding something rather large in both of his hands, completely covered by a white sheet. Nothing I had imagined would fit the mold of the object he held, a long skinny profile, pyramid in shape. He was beaming from ear to ear. "Ta-Da!!" he cried, snatching the sheet from the present.

He was right. I WAS ASTOUNDED.
"What the H-E- double hockey stick would a 12 year old want with a ... Is that a TELESCOPE ?!?!" I thought.

My father was already going off, talking in an excited rush of words... " And we can look at the moon, and you can even see the rings of saturn, the red eye...."
I couldn't hear him. The tears began to return.

There was no question the gift was the most expensive of all the gifts, or that it was indeed a telescope, and a really nice one. It was the biggest one I had ever seen. There were multiple tubes, and eye-pieces, an adjustable stand, and even a way to hook a camera up to it... It was shiny, complicated, and impressive. Any star gazing, ultra intelligent book worm at the local high school would have been proud to own it. But I had never even shown a remote interest in the stars...AND I WAS 12!
Somehow, his gift, no matter how I looked at it, no matter how nice; made no sense to me.
I pondered these things again as we sat outside that night, hoping to catch a brief glimpse of the moon in the freezing temperatures. The thing they don't tell you about moon viewing ( in the brochure, anyways) is that the moon's constant motion is amplified when viewed through a telescope. The average viewing window for the moon ( under magnification, without a tracking type of telescope) is about 5 seconds.The whole episode that night consisted of my very excited Father locating the "moon window", and losing it again while I stood there and shivered. He would find it, tell me to look through the eyepiece,( by which time it was gone again)  and then roar " What do you mean you don't see it ?!!"


It was years later, when I had children of my own that I finally understood " The Gift".
It is very difficult for a father to look at his children and not see himself. You watch them interact, and you imagine for them.... usually the things you wanted, and couldn't have. As a boy, my Father had always wanted a telescope. He grew up in the era of flash Gordon on the radio, H.G. Wells, and the advent of space travel.
His childhood was not a happy one, and the stars offered a hope both distant and brilliant. He had always wanted to bring them close, to dream of their possiblities. The telescope was the most meaningful gift he could give, because it was exactly what he would want if he were me.

The story of the gift has brought dad and I the occasional chuckle, and stuck in my mind through the years. I remember it more than anything else I've ever gotten.
And now, finally,  I have learned to appreciate it.

Ultimately, "The gift" , like every other gift, isn't about the person receiving it. It is an act of love by another person. Someone loves you enough to say " I want you to have this." In doing so, they open themselves to that person, not knowing if their gift will be rejected, or accepted. In fact the whole reason for this season isn't about us, or about " exchanges". It's about... giving the best you can, and not holding back. Putting it out there, loving without expectation, or thought of reimbursment. It's about loving someone else.... even as GOD himself first loved us.

" For GOD so loved the world, that he GAVE his only begotten son,.... "  -- John 3:16