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.
