gift

Last night I sat in my living room and watched bits of a TV show called Extreme Makeover: House Edition. At one point during the show, a warehouse truck came loaded with clothes for an entire Hopi Reservation. As I watched little children receive bags of clothes, tears escaped from the corner of my eyes. A young boy hugged the gentleman who handed him a bag. The boy didn’t say anything, but he didn’t have to.

This scene transported me back to a time when I was fourteen. The holiday season came that year and before I knew it, Christmas morning was staring me in the face. Tradition required that all of our barn chores be completed and breakfast be eaten and cleaned up before we could open our gifts. This year was different though. When the time came, my parents sat us down in the living room and told us they had a surprise – we had to close our eyes. After agonizing moments of giggling anticipation, we were allowed to peek. The room was filled with presents – more than I had ever seen in my life!

I was old enough to know that my parents didn’t have money for this and my immediate reaction was to shoot them an inquisitive look. Their eyes seemed to gently say “Never mind. Just open the gifts and enjoy them.” So I did.

I opened packages of shower supplies: mint green colored shampoo and conditioner that smelled like apple blossoms. I opened bags of dress pants and shirts: pin-striped, checkered, and plaid bottoms that matched with brown and tan blouses. I opened boxes of school supplies: crayons, paper, pencils, pens, and folders. And together we opened various kinds of candy: chocolate, flavored candy canes, and a giant tie-dye colored gummi-tongue.

Most of the items were essentials, but we did not care – we were innocent and joyful.

Our names had been put on the trees found in Catholic churches; names of underprivileged and poor families go on these trees – I knew that because I had seen them before.

So many thoughts and feelings rushed through my head during those moments. We were poor. That realization made a strange connection with me, yet I was overcome with joy, excitement, and wonder at what complete strangers did to help. I stood there in amazement, not sure what to say or how to act. I wanted to jump up and down, but I contained myself and tried to sit as still as possible in the big brown rocking chair. Something within me wanted to burst; something wanted to shout for joy. I sat there for a moment pondering the events of the day. Waves of delight caused me to smile; waves of anticipation caused me to shiver, and question after question flooded my mind.

It all hit me when I walked into the kitchen and I saw my parents crying. My four siblings were in the living room with their gifts and I saw my parents crying. They told me there was an entire turkey, as well as two weeks worth of food in our milk house. These were not tears of sorrow – they were being shed out of overwhelming thankfulness.

Although this was such an inspiring and thankful time in my life, my family rarely discusses the topic. There is a stigma associated with being the recipient of these gifts and society scorns people who need food stamps to provide for their families. I am here to break these stereotypes. I know how it feels to be blessed; I know how those Hopi children felt; and I still remember what it felt like to see my parents standing together in the kitchen crying.

Nine years after that Christmas day, I am reminded of the power of a loving gift. Every year we decorate our tree and my brother hangs his special ornament. It is made of mere construction paper and written on it is the following information: Boy Age 4; Loves Fishing

This silent reminder of love was seen escaping in the form of tears last night.