Thanks for Nothing

My mother led my brother and me next door. It was Christmastime, and our neighbors had presents for us. I say my mother led us, but at eight years old I was as excited as any selfish gift-worshipping child, so the fact of the matter is that we probably led her.

Our neighbor welcomed us into her living room and delivered our presents. My brother opened his first, tearing away the wrapping paper to reveal a game. Not just any typical board game, mind you. It included a blow-up globe and stickers and bright-colored miscellany that was sure to be a riot. What fun! The prospects were looking good for what was hiding inside my bag.

Hardly able to contain my excitement, I whipped out the tissue paper and pulled out the present inside to reveal…!

A book.

A stupid book. I cut my eyes towards my brother who was giddily investigating all the parts of his intricate, never-seen-before adventurous globe game. He got a game, a fun toy. And all I got was a book.

A prime role of parents in public is to remind their children of their manners. For example, when kids are preoccupied with the destruction of shiny wrapping paper and the investigation of newly-obtained possessions, it is generally the parent’s responsibility to remind them to be polite and express gratitude.

My mom gave the prompt. Rachel, what do you say?

Before I continue this tale, perhaps some background information would be helpful in predicting what comes next. As a child, I was an obedient daughter except when served meatloaf or Mexican goup soup, a self-driven student who loved reading, and a tender-hearted cryer preoccupied with everything’s feelings, both living and inanimate (hence the sobs during Black Beauty). Even if I was fairly dissatisfied with my gift, one would expect me to offer a half-hearted thank you at the very least.

But something monstrous had been building up inside me- jealousy, disappointment, probably all the seven deadly sins combined- because what happened next was about as ugly and unexpected as, I don’t know, the eruption of a dormant volcano.

Rachel, what do you say? was the trigger.

Thanks for nothing! was my explosive response. And then I stormed home, bitter about my lame present.

Needless to say, the following hour involved sulking, a talking-to, tears, and an apology.

Four years later, I found myself sulking over the same situation. Although this time I wasn’t upset that I got a stupid book, I was grieving over the words I said to a beloved neighbor about what became one of my favorite books. (I told you I was sensitive to others’ feelings.) Full of regret and shame, I cried to my mom, who gave me another talking-to. Why was I carrying around this remorse? My neighbor had forgiven me, and years later, it was about time to forgive myself.

The book I didn't want at first

Even now, I can tell the story with a laugh, but honestly I still feel a little bad. I don’t remember ever playing the attractive globe game with my brother, but I do remember reading The Magic Locket, and wearing the included necklace, over and over. I still wish I could tell my old neighbor how special it became to me and apologize again for my initial lack of gratitude.

 

Padres at the Alhambra

 

This Christmas, I actually asked for nothing. Well, I asked the padres to visit me in Spain and let me accompany them to Italy- which is actually a rather significant present. But on Christmas morning we didn’t have any gifts to open. Instead of toys and clothes and miscellany that would be forgotten in years to come, we have mountains of pictures and memories from our European Christmas escapades. This year, I am thankful for “nothing.”