To continue in the theme of memories of Christmas one of the other holiday memories I have is one Christmas morning when I as a small child in Brooklyn woke up crazy crazy early as most of us do. I couldn’t wait any longer to see what Old Saint Nick put under the tree.
I remember I was about 6 and we lived in a railroad apartment in Greenpoint. My bedroom was next to my parents and it was the second to last room in the apartment. I was extra quiet so as not to alert my parents to my plans. I slowly walked through my brothers room which was the gateway to the living room. As I entered the glorious presents filled room it seemed like a wonderland with miles of wrapping paper and ribbons of all colors covering boxes of all shapes and sizes.
I started to snoop around to see which had my name on it. Unfortunately that year Santa must have run out of name tags so nothing was marked. I sat there for a moment and tried to figure out how best to resolve the situation. I could have gone back to bed. Nah what fun would that have been. I could have woken up my brother and/or parents but they would have just told me to go back to bed and again what fun would that have been. So I went with what I determined to be the best option. I opened up all the gifts just enough to determine if it was for me (or if I liked it) and then moved on to the next one. Needless to say when my parents arose to find every present ripped open they were less than pleased.
How was I supposed to know that Santa also dropped off presents for my Dad’s 5 brothers and sisters and their families, and my grandmother. That does explain why some weren’t Barbies. What did I learn from this experience? Make sure Santa is fully stocked with name tags and that my mother was a special woman since she let me live that day.