The Unseen Gift

Fried chicken, turkey, ham cutlets, three types of yams, five bowls of green beans, mashed potatoes, gravy, and fifteen various casseroles, weighed down the table in my Uncle Doris's and Aunt Abbey's farmhouse dining room.

Women busied around the kitchen like ants while men eyed the dessert table with the homemade pound cakes, cookies, and pies. I eyed the gold of my great Aunt Maggie's yeast rolls as she pulled the long pan out of the oven. She smiled at me with a twinkle in her eye.

"Grab one while they're hot Scott," she said, "Get yo' self on the back porch and don't tell no one," she said and winked.

The Baker Family Christmas gathering had been a reunion event for the past fifty years. My great Uncle John, Director of the University of Georgia's Transportation, and Uncle Doris, the local constable, led a discussion about local politics. The giant Baker men all above six feet tall and more, smoked on the porch and told the same lurid jokes we heard yearly. I hid from my brothers, near them, with my prize.

Alan, my oldest brother, a real bread hound, spied my treasure and ripped half of it from my hand. Jeff, the next oldest, laughed, but I could tell he was envious. The yeast rolls were from an ancient recipe Aunt Maggie held close and were a rare treat. The scent of the exotic pastry baking could almost make a person forfeit their birthright.

"There sure are a lot of presents under the tree," I said, to avoid the expected charlie horse to my arm that often came with our interactions.

"It's a shame there isn't one for you. You heard Mom, Santa doesn't come for bedwetters," Jeff said.

"Yeah, all your getting is a bag of switches," Alan said.

My brothers liked to rag and tease me, but no one else could under the natural order of sibling rules. At nine years old, I only knew one word, survival.

"Mom said they drew names, and everyone has a present under the tree," I said.

Uncle Doris called everyone into the house to eat, and Uncle Gothels, a Methodist preacher, was called on to pronounce the blessings. Children were served first and guaranteed at least one yeast roll. The men positioned themselves in the line, and I'm sure they kept count, and my Aunt Maggie beamed. My mom served my plate with a chicken leg, beans, potatoes, and one of my grandmother’s Deviled Eggs. I consumed the yeast roll, loaded with butter before I left the buffet line to be safe.

"If you eat everything on your plate, you can have a dessert, okay?" she said. "The presents will be opened after lunch so don't go running off."

"Yes, Ma'am," I said with the mandated acknowledgment.

🎄

The handmade ornaments and multi-colored bulb lights of the ten-foot Christmas tree almost touched the living room's ceiling. Icicles, snowflakes, candy cane, and Santa Claus art adorned the presents beneath the boughs. Excess gifts were stacked up the wall by the window. Eighty people and eighty presents, I thought, and one of them was mine as I sat on the Queen Anne couch. My two brothers were designated honorary elves and began delivering the gifts to the names on the tags.

A three-foot by two-foot box was set in front of my grandmother and everyone oohed at the size. Curiosity filled the room as the giver was my eccentric Aunt Polly, who wasn't present.

My grandmother read the card aloud.

_______

Mary Estalene,

This is something you can really use. Merry Christmas,

Polly

_______

My grandmother's face expressed excitement as she ripped the paper in anticipation and then collapsed into shock as the contents were revealed. A costly ornamental toilet brush and stand. I watched in horror and worried about my grandmother's feelings. Would she be embarrassed at this horrible gift? True to her character, she whipped the brush out of the box and held it up for all to see.

"It's a back scratcher," she said and rubbed her back with it to everyone's laughter.

The pile of presents dwindled to a dozen, and I had yet to receive my gift. Two presents remained, and I was sure one of them was mine. Then there was one. My brother read the name tag and looked up.

"Uncle John," he said and took him the present.

The bustle of paper ripping, laughter, and gratitude cloaked the dark black hole my mind slipped into. As usual, no one noticed me until my brothers asked, "What'd you get? We got cool new shirts."

"Nothing," I whispered and begged myself not to cry.

"I didn't get a present," I blurted.

Please, God, don't let me cry in front of everyone, I prayed silently.

"I told you Santa wasn't bringing you a present," Alan said.

Tears burst from my eyes and flooded down my cheeks. My disappointment deepened as my brothers teased me. Uncle John, who always saw everyone, knelt in front of the couch.

"What's wrong Scott? You didn't get what you wanted? Let me see your present," he said.

"He didn't get one," jeered Alan.

"He didn't get one," teased Jeff.

The crowded room grew silent, and all attention turned to me, and I cried harder at the embarrassment. A dramatic search ensued under the tree, behind the chairs, and under the curtains.

My Aunt Abbey checked the secretive list of who had drawn my name. They weren't present.

"How could someone forget a child's present?" accused one adult.

"This is wrong, I will give him my mine," said another.

My two brothers, realizing my pain, sat beside me and put their arms around me.

"It's okay Scott. You can have my shirt," said Jeff.

"I'm sorry," said Alan.

For the first time in my life, I experienced the protection that comes with having big brothers.

The giants gathered in the kitchen, and Uncle John took up a collection. A few minutes later, the patriarchs all stood before me, and my Uncle knelt with an envelope.

"Scott, this is a sad oversight. The whole point of this gathering is to celebrate the joy of Christmas as a family. Being with our children, grandchildren, nephews, and nieces are the center of our joy. Please forgive the oversight and accept this gift of money to pick out your own gift," he said.

Never in my life had I received so much attention. Never in my life had I felt seen by so many people. I was hugged, kissed, and my cheeks pinched until they became sore.

The next day my mother and father took me shopping.

"Scott, a hundred dollars is a lot of money. You can buy one toy and the rest will be for new clothes," she said.

We arrived home, and my brothers were excited to see the harmonica I had bought and the four pairs of pants and shirts.

🎄

Ten days later, we returned to school, and my teacher asked us to share what we had learned over the holiday.

I wrote.

The holidays are about sharing joy. My family loves me, and I know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, my brothers don't hate me. Sometimes gifts are not seen, until they are.