secret santa
Three days before Christmas, I was sitting in the golf cart with my brother, patiently waiting for the players ahead of us to finish playing through the hole.
"hey," I said, "did you know that there's a New Order boxed set out?"
"really? yet another greatest hits compilation? Don't they have, like, 3 of them now?"
"yeah, something like that. Looked pretty cool though. Saw it in Mod Lang yesterday."
"neat. Maybe swing by there after Christmas when we've got time to go to Berkeley."
"yeah, if there's any left. They said they only had one available."
"ah well, we'll see. How's your finger?"
"still sprained. fuckin' wet sand traps like hitting cement."
"surprised you're still playing."
"it's fuckin' golf, dude, how many chances do you get to play hurt at golf?"
The tradition in my family was to exchange presents just after dinner1 on Christmas Eve, with LittleSister playing mistress of ceremonies. I'm not sure when this role was crafted for her, though I do recall how, even as a toddler, she was far more enthusiastic about presents than any of us and she loved finding out, not just what she received but what we gave each other. The ritual has grown more complex and involved as she grew older, and Wednesday night it was my family gathered in the living room, sitting with our backs to the dinner table, laden with gifts and her pacing around it, scanning boxes and trying to guess at their contents. She'd pick one out of the pile, bring it over and say who it was from, who it was for and watch with excited eyes as we peeled off tape and tore off paper. Each present had its ten seconds of presentation and attention, accompanied with her running commentary. The dress my father gave to my mom was "surprisingly hip yet classy. Very Vanity Fair photo editorial." The Herzog-Kinski boxed set OlderSister picked up for me was the occasion for an impromptu trivia contest as my dad tried to guess the titles of all six films.
Then my sister picked out the slim, flat package with my brother's name on it. "Looks like Cris got this one" she said, noting the last minute, slapdash tape job that was the mark of every present I brought in, "wonder what it is ... looks like a ... white box ... looks lik-OMIGOD."
She started jumping up and down as she looked over his shoulder, joyous envy running in her eyes, and my brother just ran his fingers over the track listings of four CDs from one of his favorite bands, and as we passed the boxed set around, he turned to me and said, "bastard. you've done this to me for four years now."
"Done what?"
"Hinted at whatever present you were going to get me in some conversation and I never pick up on it. You just slip it in."
"Well, you know, I just needed to make sure you didn't have it. And I'm not going to just say, 'hey, I was wondering if you have Retro in your collection because I think it would be an awesome present for you.'"
"What if I had it?"
"I'd probably give it to LittleSister, then. Won't surprise me if she'll burn those CDs off before she flies back to Boston."
"Or you could keep it for yourself."
"yeah, but I'd rather have that Joy Division boxed set that went out a few years ago."
"true."
"That's a hint, you know."
"yeah, shut up, man."
1 I was in the middle of swapping North African restaurant tips with OlderSister when my mom asked us, "so what do you guys want to have for dinner on Christmas Eve?"
and I just sort of blurted out, "Moroccan."
and OlderSister chimed in, "'cos nothing says Christmas like Muslim cuisine."
"but, they're not all Muslims."
"yeah, and Muslims acknowledge the birth of Christ, so it works."
"... sure ... I guess."
and that's pretty much how we wound up having couscous, pigeon pie and baklava on Christmas Eve.
"hey," I said, "did you know that there's a New Order boxed set out?"
"really? yet another greatest hits compilation? Don't they have, like, 3 of them now?"
"yeah, something like that. Looked pretty cool though. Saw it in Mod Lang yesterday."
"neat. Maybe swing by there after Christmas when we've got time to go to Berkeley."
"yeah, if there's any left. They said they only had one available."
"ah well, we'll see. How's your finger?"
"still sprained. fuckin' wet sand traps like hitting cement."
"surprised you're still playing."
"it's fuckin' golf, dude, how many chances do you get to play hurt at golf?"
The tradition in my family was to exchange presents just after dinner1 on Christmas Eve, with LittleSister playing mistress of ceremonies. I'm not sure when this role was crafted for her, though I do recall how, even as a toddler, she was far more enthusiastic about presents than any of us and she loved finding out, not just what she received but what we gave each other. The ritual has grown more complex and involved as she grew older, and Wednesday night it was my family gathered in the living room, sitting with our backs to the dinner table, laden with gifts and her pacing around it, scanning boxes and trying to guess at their contents. She'd pick one out of the pile, bring it over and say who it was from, who it was for and watch with excited eyes as we peeled off tape and tore off paper. Each present had its ten seconds of presentation and attention, accompanied with her running commentary. The dress my father gave to my mom was "surprisingly hip yet classy. Very Vanity Fair photo editorial." The Herzog-Kinski boxed set OlderSister picked up for me was the occasion for an impromptu trivia contest as my dad tried to guess the titles of all six films.
Then my sister picked out the slim, flat package with my brother's name on it. "Looks like Cris got this one" she said, noting the last minute, slapdash tape job that was the mark of every present I brought in, "wonder what it is ... looks like a ... white box ... looks lik-OMIGOD."
She started jumping up and down as she looked over his shoulder, joyous envy running in her eyes, and my brother just ran his fingers over the track listings of four CDs from one of his favorite bands, and as we passed the boxed set around, he turned to me and said, "bastard. you've done this to me for four years now."
"Done what?"
"Hinted at whatever present you were going to get me in some conversation and I never pick up on it. You just slip it in."
"Well, you know, I just needed to make sure you didn't have it. And I'm not going to just say, 'hey, I was wondering if you have Retro in your collection because I think it would be an awesome present for you.'"
"What if I had it?"
"I'd probably give it to LittleSister, then. Won't surprise me if she'll burn those CDs off before she flies back to Boston."
"Or you could keep it for yourself."
"yeah, but I'd rather have that Joy Division boxed set that went out a few years ago."
"true."
"That's a hint, you know."
"yeah, shut up, man."
1 I was in the middle of swapping North African restaurant tips with OlderSister when my mom asked us, "so what do you guys want to have for dinner on Christmas Eve?"
and I just sort of blurted out, "Moroccan."
and OlderSister chimed in, "'cos nothing says Christmas like Muslim cuisine."
"but, they're not all Muslims."
"yeah, and Muslims acknowledge the birth of Christ, so it works."
"... sure ... I guess."
and that's pretty much how we wound up having couscous, pigeon pie and baklava on Christmas Eve.