My Christmas Punishment

For months I’d seen commercials exhibiting her beauty: cream colored skin with all the right make-up and a snow-white dress with fur wrapped hems and glittering undergarments. I had to have the Holiday Barbie, and in a bad way.

Every Christmas list I wrote included her name. Every daydream involved stellar weddings between her and my most handsome Ken doll. I outfitted him with a tux well ahead of their meeting so when the special day came he’d be ready.

My anticipation grew as the fateful day of her arrival drew near, sending my mind in whirling directions. What if Mom and Dad couldn’t afford Holiday Barbie? What if they didn’t think I deserved her? Did I tell them she’s all I wanted, all I cared about?

Walking home from school, I gathered my coat in under my chin to block out the cold breeze.

“Holiday Barbie’s fur would be so warm . . . .” A light bulb flashed in my head. Christmas was only a week away. Mom and Dad’s shopping would be complete. “What if . . . she’s already in the house!”

I ran the rest of the way home, pulling the key from under my shirt along the way. Being home alone for an hour or two before my parents arrived had advantages. I fumbled with the lock then dropped my book bag as soon as I stepped inside.

“Where would they hide presents?” Looking around, I realized they wouldn’t be in the open. Closets . . . that’s where I hid everything.

I rushed to the end of the hall and burst through the door into my parent’s room. Pushing their wooden chest toward the closet, I considered the trouble I’d get in if they found me, and ignored it.

“Blankets. Pillows. Shoe boxes. Nothing.” Disappointment rifled through me. Ready to give up, I stepped down from the make-shift ladder and accidentally brought one of the blankets down, too. There, behind the remaining blankets and pillows, was Holiday Barbie. Her white box with pink writing, the metallic-red foil backdrop behind her brilliant-white dress, and her curly hair were like magic to my eyes.

Triumph.

My parents remembered. They’d paid attention!

Hands shaking, I resisted the urge to take her out of the box and replaced the blanket to its rightful spot. Once the room was back to normal and I was satisfied, I left to do my homework.

But something else crept into my thoughts as I added and subtracted ridiculously small numbers: Guilt. How would I hide the fact I knew what they bought me? My reaction to unwrapping Holiday Barbie needed to be huge or else they’d be upset after all the nagging I did. How could I do that? Why did I do that?

This feeling refused to leave me, refused to let me force it into the recess of my mind. Frustration and anxiety coursed through me all the way to Christmas morning, and when I opened the gift I wasn’t as excited as I should have been.

I cried, then proceeded to tell them what I’d done.

Mom and Dad didn’t take her away from me, and they didn’t yell or scream at me for hours. I’m pretty sure they knew the guilt and regret I felt was punishment enough.

And it was.

I swore never to go snooping again.