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Little boys, big surprises

I remember one Christmas when Dylan was small, maybe four years old or so. The tree was up and wrapped presents from grandmas and grandpas and aunts and uncles had been arriving for weeks and finding their way to the tree. The kids were in a high state of excitement.

They were in on some of the secrets, having gone shopping for their father with their mother helping to wrap those presents and arranging them in with the other gifts around the tree. They had bought gifts for each other as well.

They had been sworn to secrecy and half the fun was watching them struggling to keep their secrets. “I know what you’re getting but I’m not going to tell you because it’s a SECRET!” Their eyes would be wide and their mouths would be zipped, their little lips sealed by the turn of an invisible key.

To make the excitement even more unbearable, a parent could tweak them a little. “Just a hint! Come on, you can tell me!” If the younger ones showed any signs of cracking under pressure, the older ones would be screaming, “No! No! Don’t tell!”

But back to my story. Dylan was four, maybe, and like most men, his father got out to do his Christmas shopping the day before Christmas. The kids went with him to help. I stayed home to wrap. When they all trooped back home, I was held prisoner in a room while my gifts were spirited away to be wrapped. So much excitement! So much giggling! So much fun!

Once wrapped, those gifts were brought downstairs and put under the tree with the rest of the mysterious packages from the aunts and uncles and grandmas and grandpas. The games began. “I know what you’re getting but it’s a SECRET…”

Except for this one year. It was Christmas eve, and the kids were in their red and green plaid nightwear and we were watching some Christmas special on television. It really was just about a perfect moment. Dylan came over and leaned adoringly on the arm of my chair and stared at me intently.

I said something to the effect of “Are you excited for Christmas?” and his answer rushed forth: “Yep. I can’t wait until you open your microwave!” His father and older sister yelled, “Dylan! You’re not supposed to tell!” I laughed. Dylan burst into tears. He got many hugs.

It became one of those stories that families tell forever. It was incorporated into later Christmases as people would say, “I can’t wait until you open your __________.” What made it so funny that whatever you named was not their actual present. Misleading is a time honored skill in keeping Christmas secrets.

Now Dylan is 30 and a truly excellent secret keeper. They all are.

Thank goodness we have William.

Last Sunday was Brianna’s birthday. I mentioned this to William as we were grocery shopping and he got quite excited about it. He wanted to bake a cake, being a real fan of cake. I allowed that we could do this.

He took a long time to select the proper mix, finally settling on a fun-fetti cake. He picked out the frosting too, bright yellow, because that’s his favorite color. I looked at him suspiciously. “I thought red was your favorite color? And another time you said that blue was your favorite color? What’s up with that?” I asked feigning indignance.

He carefully explained that all the colors were his favorite really because he did not want to hurt their feelings.

“Good thinking!” I said, and pushed the cart on. William saw a display of mums and he said, “I think that some flowers would make a good birthday present!” So I stopped while he picked out a pot of brown mums (brown is his favorite color) and carried them back to the cart.

He was very excited about the whole deal and he had a plan. “Grandma,” he said in a conspiratorial whisper, “let’s not tell mama that it’s her birthday. It will be a surprise!”

“Good idea!” I said. William spent the rest of the shopping trip imagining how surprised his mother was going to be at discovering that she had a birthday coming up.

That afternoon we baked the cake. William helped to grease the pan. He watched the mixer and said in a hopeful voice, “Remember when I was little and you would let me lick the beaters?” The stuff that that boy comes up with makes me laugh. Yes. Even though he was a big boy, he still got to lick the beaters.

The fun continued while the cake baked. He hid his flowers on the second floor balcony. He carefully signed “William” on his mama’s card in special green ink, green being his favorite color and all.

His mama walked in the door from work before the cake could come out of the oven William was beside himself. “Don’t go into the kitchen!” he said. Fearful that she might figure everything out, he cleverly said, “We are not baking a cake. We are baking a pie, huh, Grandma?”

Grandma quickly agreed that we had absolutely no reason to bake a cake. William clapped both hands over his mouth and giggled.

Once he was certain his secret was safe, he darted up the stairs. He just needed to check on something. “You stay down here!” he told him mama. His mama did as she was told, and she tried to look as if she were not suspicious at all. We heard the back door open upstairs. I guess he wanted to swear those mums to secrecy as well. He was taking no chances.

His mother never had a clue that her birthday was Sunday until he broke the news. She looked suitably shocked. She opened her cards and ate cake and admired her flowers, saying over and over how surprised she was.

You know, there really is no finer entertainment than a small child with a big secret. Christmas will be a lot of fun this year.

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