Coming to Grips with Christmas Miracles Pt II

. . . continued from Coming to Grips with Christmas Miracles Part I

“You mean my keyboard?” I grinned manically, and grabbed for the present with what I can only describe now as crazed frenzy. I lifted the end of the cloth bag and slid the box onto the floor. I cut the tape from the sides.  I threw the top open.

A few moments of shocked silence ensued, followed by an outraged shriek. “A . . . a . . . pogo stick?” I could hardly speak.

But the box? How could it be anything else? The box?

I kept affirming the perfection of my logic. How could such grand and dignified reasoning go awry? Besides, I had never once thought about a pogo stick, not once in my brief 11 years. The universe wouldn’t dump something on you that you’d never even mentally conceptualized? Would it?

“A pogo stick?” I cried in horror. I set my jaw at my mother in defiance and stared.

In that instant, my mother became the un-universe, the sort of person that spit in the face of the laws of nature and laughed.  To illustrate the seriousness of the situation, this would be tantamount to expecting an iPod, opening an iPod box, only to find a shrunken, misshapen cactus.

“Well,” she said, “we couldn’t afford a keyboard, and you didn’t want anything else. I didn’t know what to get you. I wanted a pogo stick once, so I thought you might like it.”

I remember thinking, did the universe collapse? My anger deepened.  Why didn’t she take the stupid thing out of that blasted box!

However, upon more mature reflection, I can see now that the universe pulled through after all. My mom finally got the pogo stick she wanted – via me. And I learned to pogo stick. Quite well, in fact. I learned that a pogo stick is (not, indeed the devil, but) an enjoyable excuse for a hobby. And after my brother abused the said stick so much that a chunk of his chin went missing while attempting to bounce without hands and the pedals fell off, I asked for a new pogo stick for Christmas years later and got it. 

Eventually, I did receive a keyboard – nine years later when my parents finally coughed up the money to pay for it. Miracles do happen. And I started taking piano lessons, so perhaps the miracle at that point was that I had the capacity to actually play it. The universe in its infinite wisdom taught me that some Christmas miracles take time. And others just take money.