dedicado a mi abuela y mi tio:
"I Love My Mommy"
¡I love my mommy! Here I am over sixty years old and I am not ashamed to say it: “I love my mommy.”
Please let me explain.
A few years ago, my mother arrived at our home for Thanksgiving early that day. As she came in, she was greeted by our three year old grandson, her great grandson. He was running around the house yelling, “EEEEEEEEEEEE . . . EEEEEEEEE . . . EEEEEEEEEEEEE.”
When she asked him what he was doing, he gleefully replied “¡I’m playing fi-fider!”.
“¿Do you like being a fire fighter?” she asked.
“¡Yeah – I wanna pud out fiyahs!”
She was still smiling when she found my wife and I in the family room. We were in the middle of a very serious and covert meeting. No, we were not involved in any international spy caper; instead, we were busy with a far more important endeavor. My wife and I were determined to finally pick out a Christmas gift that our grandson would actually love.
For each of the previous Christmases, we had tried everything we could think of to select the best present he found under the tree (after all, we’re grandparents). While he was always genuinely grateful for his gifts, we could never quite get The One that would put the smile of all smiles on his precious little face (after all, we’re grandparents).
In any case, my mother joined us in this year’s strategic planning session for getting the gift that our grandson would remember for years. As we talked, the discussion evolved into a conversation about our own Christmas experiences. My wife shared her more memorable gifts and why they were so in an effort to get a child’s perspective. I dismissed her recollections of dolls and doll houses and more dolls as not being the kind of things for my grandson. She accused me of being a chauvinist and I proudly pleaded guilty.
“I know which was the best gift you ever got”, my mother said to me. She was right about the Ted Williams ball and mitt as being the best present I ever “got” but I was thinking more about the best gift I never got.
“You know Mami, there was always one gift that I always wanted but never got.”
“¿What was that mijo?” my mother asked curiously.
“Lincoln Logs . . . I never got Lincoln Logs.”
From there, the talk drifted to other gifts we had wanted but never received and then we talked about a million other things that were each progressively unrelated to our grandson’s super gift.
A month later, when Christmas finally arrived, my wife and I were not closer to the great “Eureka” moment we had become so desperate for.
This year was our turn to have my mother spend Noche Buena with us. After a quiet yet hurried breakfast of a special holiday tortilla made with the left over lechón from the previous night’s feast, we began preparations for the arrival of our grandchildren.
As usual, everyone arrived by mid-morning in two distinct groups: the bright, smiling faces (of the children) and the tired, baggy-eyed faces (of the parents). The last of the “bright, smiling faces” was worn by the subject of all of our “gift committee briefings”. He calmly walked over to the tree to see what bore the smiling reindeer stickers we always put on his gifts.
After opening all of his gifts, my mother said, “Esperete, I think you’re forgetting something”. She walked over to the back of the tree and gently pulled out two packages. Inside one was a bright red fire truck with a ladder and in the other was a bright red firefighter’s helmet.
“¡Yeeeaaaaa!” he squealed with delight.
Someone had finally unlocked the modern world’s greatest mystery.
My wife and I looked at each other in utter amazement. “¿How did you know?”
My mother pulled out another gift from behind the oversized manger in the Nativity Scene under the tree. She placed it on my lap as she said “Sometimes you just have to listen. Now open your gift.”
Upon my lap, my mother had placed a package covered in some type of Davey Crockett wrapping. Inside was my very own set of Lincoln Logs.
I love my mommy.
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