25 Days of Christmas - Stories! #5

Mom's revenge

Photo by Thandy Yung on Unsplash

I remember the Christmas that I learned Santa could do things to naughty children.

I was old enough to ask for albums (round disks that played music through a needle and turntable), and I had asked for one particular album: Donny Osmond.

All of you who are snickering - Santa is making his list.

So I watched the tree like crazy because Mom wrapped a few gifts each night after supper and dishes. My two brothers and I would sneak a peek at the names on the new arrivals.

An album-shaped gift arrived one night. I mean, it’s hard to disguise that shape, and my mother was simply too tired to try. As soon as I could do so without getting yelled at, I snuck to the tree to check out the name tag.

“TO EVELYN” - my six-year-old baby sister. I was distraught.

Now, my mother had four children, a demanding full-time job, no help at home except me (so, no real help at home), and a husband who loved their social life. She was usually so tired.

So tired in fact, that she had put the wrong names on packages and sometimes the wrong gift in packages. (I’ve done this since, so no judgment here!) The “TO EVELYN” had to be a mistake. My sister didn’t even listen to music, much less have an appreciation for any teen idols.

That record had to be mine. Before long, I felt the need to confirm that it was, in fact, my present. First, I tried the sneak questions ploy. No luck. Either she was more tired than I thought or much smarter than I gave her credit for. Stupidly enough, I thought my eleven-year-old self could play this game much better.

So I had only one option. I needed to open that gift, confirm it was Donny, and then rewrap it and wait for her to confess her mistake on Christmas morning.

I waited until the next Tuesday night when she worked late and met my dad at their club for drinks. My brothers went out to do stupid things in the snow, and Evelyn stayed upstairs playing.

Sliding under the tree on my belly, just like the Grinch, I took that album, flipped it over, and carefully removed the tape from the back.

I’m sure I was breathing heavily when I slid that album out to see the artist: The Chipmunks Christmas! This was not Donny. This was not my gift. This was no mistake.

Still on my belly, I did my best to get the tape put back in just the right spots. Almost done, I heard the one thing that every kid dreads. My mother middle-naming me, “Vicki Diane!”

They had not gone out. Dad tiptoed upstairs - probably chuckling, if I know him - while she fumed. She snatched the record from me and sent me to my room.

Now, in terms of punishment at my house, it would have been much better for her to spank or yell or ground me right then. Being sent to my room meant that she wanted to think about this first.

She calmed down, came to my room, and asked for the truth. And I told her. She just nodded her head and left the room. No grounding or punishment of any sort. Maybe she had some of that Christmas spirit.

Christmas came and went - with no Donny. But on my birthday in July, I finally got my album. After the birthday party when I was playing the record, she walked up to me with the “mom look” that I knew so well and told me that she had the record for me at Christmas.

“That will teach you to be so nosy,” was her only mom-look comment.

Apparently my tired mother still played that game very well.