December 15, 2021
By Mikenna Doyle
All around me I see small boxes, large boxes, bright wrapping paper, and gift bags of all shapes and sizes. Beautiful, glistening lights show their simplicity in their tireless glow on the tree. The atmosphere seems to sing “Silent Night,” and I sit, waiting for something great to happen. Now I know how Mary felt when she was waiting for the Savior to be born. I have been waiting 45 years just for one moment, and year after year, I wait for my time to come.
Three… two… one! An alarm clock rings, and lights suddenly are turned on upstairs, where little children scamper to wake their sleepy parents. It only takes a minute for happy children to run down the stairs and rush to their stockings. A mother shouting, “Wait! Let me get the camera!” Wonderful and chique toys are pulled out of the long socks, and other presents around me exclaim their awes, but as I have seen years (and toys) come and go, I know that material objects don’t stay long with the same excitement every day.
Here it comes! Little hands reach under the tree and grab for the biggest, most exquisite present seen. Joy is painted on the family’s faces, and I feel my chance coming closer and closer, like a miner in a cave, so close to a diamond. “Another strike,” I keep telling myself. “I will be picked soon enough. I have waited 45 years; what’s 5 more minutes?” trying to keep my hopes up.
“Is that it? Are there any more presents? What’s this?” A father bends to peer under the tree and, with trembling hands, picks me up.
I try to straighten up and look like my best. This human looks very confused, and I understand why. His children run off to the kitchen where they help their mother, but he seats himself on the couch. Something unfamiliar stops him from opening me up: the name reads “Margret Nolan.” I am eager for my purpose to be filled, but I also respect the pause. The man says aloud, “Now how did you get here? Mom… Margret… but she. But why?” Slowly and cautiously he opens my flap.
Inside is a cheesy Christmas card that has a picture of Rudolph and a caption that says “Who’s bright?” and the inside says “You! Merry Christmas.” However, a special meaning is written beside that. The man starts to read aloud, as if he were the man, long ago, who wrote this letter.
“Dearest Margaret, for your Christmas present, I write you a simple letter. You were the one who taught me how to write one. Margret, you are my Santa Claus. Every day you have brought me a present and so much more joy than a brightly wrapped box ever has: love.
Love always,”
A name was not given and the man broke down into tears, but then I understood what Christmas truly is. It was worth the wait.