An older story, but still relevant. I hope you Enjoy it!
A little boy sat on the living room floor with legs crossed, deep in thought.
Colorful scraps of paper, glittering confetti and curling ribbon attached to pieces of Scotch tape lay crumpled and strewn in chaotic piles around his knees. He stretched out a slippered foot and sullenly kicked at a bit of the stuff, turning it
over with his toes. The call of discarded wrapping paper shown red, green and gold. It glimmered cheerily in the lights of the tree and the fireplace, but did nothing to brighten his mood.
Another happily squashed wad of paper landed nearby and the boy looked up to the source of the litter. All the other family members had already opened their presents, and how it was his mother's turn.
"Oh John! It's Beautiful!" she exclaimed with delight. "I have wanted something like this for just the longest time!" She held the box in her hands, lovingly pulled out the expensive bracelet inside and held out her arm to her husband who was
sitting next to her on the couch. "Put it on me, wont you dear?"
The diamonds winked and twinkled on her wrist as her hands moved across the various boxes and packages still arranged in neat piles within easy reach. One by one the festive wrappings were torn away to reveal their wondrous contents. There was a big, fluffy bathrobe with matching slippers in just that shade of blue that matched mother's eyes from sister Amanda. They sat on the boxes of matching note-cards, pen and address book from Grandma which were covered in pansies; his mother's favorite flower.
There were pearl earrings from Aunt Julia, and a new, fine leather brief case from brother Jim. At last there were only two items left. The woman smiled as she reached for a tall, square package; this one wrapped neatly in silver paper covered in blue stars. The box was topped with a loopy blue and silver ribbon so huge that it nearly covered the entire top of the box. The whole family oooooohed and ahhhhed over the magnificent wrapping; but that was nothing compared to their reaction when the box was opened. Inside the beautiful paper, swaddled in confetti and bubble-wrap, was a china plate.
This was not just any porcelain plate, but a very expensive and delicate one. It had cranes painted on it. Oriental ladies fanned themselves and strolled under blossoming cherry trees, across a bridge that spanned a lovely little river. Water lilies floated in the water, and their blooms were painted in colors so delicate that the little boy thought he could almost reach out and pick one. The inside of the plate was creamy white, and the rim was painted in gold that shone brightly in the light of the
fireplace.
"This is too much," said mother. She ran her hand over the edge, taking in the smooth coolness under her fingertips. She turned the plate over in her hands, watching the way the light played across the translucent finish.
"I have never seen anything so beautiful!" she cried. "This is the best Christmas ever!" She stood up and gently lifted the plate and placed it on the mantle in between a pair of silver candlesticks. She stepped back to admire it and smiled. Then she sat down once again and reached for the last present.
This package was different from all the rest. It had a bow made from many bits of different colored yarn that was tied around wrapping paper made from a brown paper grocery bag. Stars and swirls of color were drawn all over the paper in crayon; the artist seemingly determined to use every color in the crayon box. This box was not wrapped as neatly as the others; its corners were not perfectly crisp and the tape stuck out in places. Nevertheless, she lifted it gingerly into her lap and opened it with care.
Inside the rather sorry-looking wrapping was an even sorrier-looking item. It was a pot made of clay.
"What's this?" she asked, lifting the pot from its box and turning it over in her hands. "Is this for me?" The poor little pot was thicker on one side than the other and was painted with bright yellow and orange flowers that could only be described as "noisy". The rim of the pot, if indeed the pot had a rim, was painted blue with yellow spots. There were thumb-prints dried into the bottom and it didn't sit quite straight on the table. It leaned to one side in a way that looked
to the little boy as if the clay had partially melted. Mother held it out at arm's length, blue eyes scanning the lumpy clay. "Did you make this for me?" she said, smiling to the little boy.
"Yes", he nodded looking nervously at the floor. He had spent a whole afternoon on it. His eyes traveled to the mantle where the china plate sat, gleaming regally.
"But it.s not very good". He said.
"Not very good?! Well I think it.s wonderful." Said mother. She reached out and ruffled the boy's unruly hair. She carried the little pot to the kitchen where she placed it on the table. It wobbled just a little, but otherwise stayed put.
In time the holidays passed as holidays do, and the little boy grew up as little boys do. Through the years, the beautiful china plate with the cranes and ladies on it stayed on the mantle; and the little boy.s mother dusted it once a week. When
people visited, she always took them to see the mantle where the plate stood between the candlesticks.
"This is my beautiful china plate", she told them. "I got it for Christmas but we mustn't use it. It's much too delicate." The company nodded solemnly and moved on.
When the children grew up, and left to start families of their own, Mother and Father decided to move to a smaller house. The beautiful china plate was lovingly and carefully wrapped up in its bubble-wrap and confetti and placed into the new
attic along with the candle sticks, and other boxes filled with photo albums and baby clothes that had long been outgrown. When the little boy, who was not so little any more, came to visit he found the old, lumpy clay pot filled with apples
and sitting on the dining room table. The noisy little flowers were faded now, and somebody had glued a little piece of cork to the bottom so that the pot no longer wobbled. "I didn't think you had kept this", he said thinking sullenly back to that morning with the tree and the china plate, where was that plate anyway?
He looked around.
No plate.
"Oh dear!!" Mother laughed. "I don't know what I'd do without my little clay pot!"
She removed the fruit and turned the pot over lovingly. "It still has your little thumb prints here all over the bottom! This pot used to have all my paper clips in it. Do you remember when it sat on Father's desk?"
The young man nodded.
"And I planted grandma's pansies in it, before they got too big in the Spring."
She went on, "And last Summer we filled it with sand and used it to prop open the
screen door! I kept my gardening supplies in it this Fall and it held down the paper
on my desk when I was working on the Christmas cards. Last week I had it filled
with pens and pencils by the phone! This pot has been the best present I've
ever gotten, and you made it for me all by yourself!"
The young man smiled and put the pot back on the table. He took a bite out of an
apple, then, whistling happily, he followed his mother into the kitchen for something to drink.
