A Christmas Miracle circa 1973

Dad had taken a position as an Executive VP with the Sanger-Harris Department stores in Dallas, Texas. This new job came with an executive level income and substantial bonuses and, in their mid-forties, my parents began to really enjoy life. They bought a big ranch-style home, a Cadillac, new furniture, and they traveled. The ranch had an up-to-date kitchen equipped with the current stylish brown appliances and kitchen carpet that was all the rage then (I know! Yuck!) Dad decided that since they were now the proud owners of a completely modern kitchen and one of Mom's primary goals in life was to spend a little time as possible in it, the Teflon pots and pans which never needed scrubbing until the coating wore off and was absorbed into the food we ate was an ideal Christmas gift for her. Scrub-free pans! That's the ticket!

A few evenings before Christmas Day, Dad snuck into the guest bedroom where I was staying for the holiday with my two small children and asked if I would wrap the large box he carried in his arms. "It's for your mother," he said proudly. "OOOhhhh! Such a big box, Daddy! What's in it?" And then I noticed the image of pots and pans on the side of the box. "Really? Pots and pans, Dad?" He quickly explained that they were special pots and pans that never needed scrubbing. "Your mother will love them!" he insisted. In turn, I explained to him that while Mom would certainly appreciate the thought, scrub-free or not, NO woman ever wanted to see pots and pans under the Christmas tree unless a housekeeper came with them. Crestfallen, Dad asked me what he should do. His gift sucked but I agreed to wrap it and brightly suggested that maybe he could add another gift for Mom to open, something small, something pretty. Earrings, maybe?

Christmas Eve came and the huge box of pots and pans sat under the tree but wrapped in a different paper than I had used for it. I felt a moment of indignation, thinking Dad rewrapped the box because my efforts didn't meet his standards of perfection. Regardless, I eagerly searched the piles of gifts, hoping to see another gift from him to Mom along with the big box but found nothing else with her name on it from him. When the time came for us to open gifts, I felt a great deal of anxiety, knowing Mom would hide her disappointment and pretend to be thrilled with the kitchenware, I also knew that once Dad was out of earshot, I would be the one to hear about that "damned box of pots and pans."

Once my brother, sister, and I got older and it was no longer considered appropriate to rip open our gifts all at once as if we had lost our minds, Dad played Santa by handing out the presents one at a time to make us witness and appreciate what the other person received before we could open our own gifts. We were expected to behave politely and like adults even if no one gave a rat's ass what the other person got, but we all said lovely things anyway so as not to disrupt the process which might prevent our own chance of ripping the paper off the gift handed to us. This particular year, Dad waited until all the gifts had been distributed and opened before presenting the big box to Mom. The excitement was palpable. OOOOHHHH! Such a big box! The bigger the box, the bigger the disappointment, I thought to myself with angst. What in the world could it be, Mom asked as she began to unwrap it with a smile stretched from one ear to the other. Inwardly, I groaned with apprehension while she delicately removed the ribbon and then the paper. Her smile widened and she looked up at Dad with unaffected adoration. "Oh, Bobby!" she exclaimed. "Pots and pans!" My God, the woman was a saint. She pried open the box. "They're beautiful!" she cried. I cringed. Bette Davis could not have pulled off a better act. Then Dad said, "Take out that smallest pot. If you remove the lid and look inside it, you'll get an idea how well-made this stuff is." Mom removed the small pot from the box. It was filled with tissue paper. "I think something extra is in that tissue," Dad said slyly. Oh great, I thought; he has included a vegetable scrubber. Mom dug through the tissue and pulled out a small, beautifully wrapped box. Jesus, he even wrapped the vegetable scrubber! How romantic! "Open it," he excitedly exclaimed. She looked perplexed but opened the small box whereupon she found another smaller box. This time, one the size for jewelry. I watched my mother gasp as she pulled out a velvet ring case. Inside, an exquisite multi-diamond dinner ring the size of Staten Island glittered. It was huge! It was a Christmas miracle!

That night, I knew that even when Dad did not seem to be listening to me, he always heard me, and I realized he always had. Somehow, understanding this was one of those intangible gifts that come to us inadvertently and unexpectedly. Through watching my mother open her beautiful gift, I too gained something that lit up my heart: a better understanding of my father. Ironically, I recognized the same held true for me: I always heard my father, even when I did not seem to be listening to him. It's funny how much of what he said to me returns to me over and over again throughout the years. No gift could glitter more that that.