A few years back, when TVs were still giant boxes, my older sister Mary-Rose had one single wish for Christmas. A TV of her very own.
As my family didn't even have cable until she was 16 years old this was, really, the first request of it's kind and it had caused quite a stir among all us siblings.
As luck would have it, though, my parents were able to fulfill her wish that year, and purchased her a TV. While she was out one day, my mother worried aloud to me that she didn't know what to do with the box. After, all she had to wrap it so my sister wouldn't find it tucked away somewhere, but the box was so big that she'd have to bring it upstairs, wrap just the top and sides and let the bottom be. And once that happened, Mary-Rose would surely know what it was.
One of my mother's favorite lines while I was growing up was "Necessity is the mother of invention" and it was with that imaginative mindset that I took to solving this problem for my mother.
Finally, I had concocted the perfect plan and presented it to her. My mom could wrap the present and place it under the baby grand piano out of the way as planned with one minor change.
My name would be on the tag.
With a glee that only cooking up a good Christmas surprise can bring, we set about the task. When Mary-Rose saw the box under the piano she was thrilled for about 3 seconds: until she my name on it.
A few hushed conversations with me confirmed for her that by some terrible error her greatest wish had been ignored this Christmas. She new that box was a TV, and couldn't conceive of how our parents could be so cruel as to pass her over for me. The actress in me emerged as I assured her that I wanted a TV too and they must have known that. Or maybe that box wasn't a TV at all. She was fooled!
That year, Christmas morning dawned as exuberantly as always and while we all sat in the living room opening our gifts, drinking cocoa and enjoying family time, Mary-Rose huddled rather sullenly in the family rocking chair. She opened her gifts and gave "thank yous", but clearly her heart was not all the way in it.
Secret glance were cast around the room all morning. The air crackling with excitement. Finally, the moment had come.
My father pushed the box to the center of the room and stood. Mom, Dad, and I all grinning from ear to ear.
"Katy" my sister ejected hostilely from the rocking chair, "get up and open it already!"
My mother stood, "Mary-Rose," her voice thick with surprise, "this is for you."
For the first time that morning, a smile leapt to my sister's face. She pushed herself out of the chair. "What?"
and made her way over to the box. By now we were all standing or leaning forward in excitement.
With just a little more coaxing, she was convinced it was, in fact, her gift to open, and grabbed at the paper. It gave with a satisfying r-i-i-i-p, revealing a shiny picture of a Sony television ready for action.
We laughed. Mary-Rose joined in the merriment tearing more paper aside, Christmas wish fulfilled. And then we all talked at once, giving up the ruse, sitting in the wrapping paper mess and grinning madly at her enjoyment. That's the best part of Christmas, really.
The surprising.
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