Helen loved Christmas for one reason. Presents! Every time she heard someone say, “Giving is better than receiving,” she couldn’t quite fathom the concept. Wasn’t receiving presents the whole point of celebrating Christmas?
Christmas had always been the time of the year when her parents would spoil her and her brother silly. But that year had been tough on the family. Her father’s business wasn’t doing well—she had overheard her mother talking.
Helen knew she shouldn’t expect much. But every chance she had, she’d examine each present, hold and rattle each one to guess what it might be. She had scanned all the gifts under the tree so many times that she could tell which present was for whom without even looking at the tags.
On Christmas morning, she eagerly waited in the living room for everyone to wake up. The more she tried to conceal the excitement, the more jittery she got. As soon as everyone was up, Helen and her little brother rushed to the tree and attacked the wrapping paper.
“Here, Tony, this is for you.” Helen’s father announced, handing out a box. She stared in confusion. The gift they just gave Tony was hers! Little Tony squealed as Helen started to tear up. She recognised the handwriting, her mom did this.
Years later, one Christmas morning at Helen’s, five-year-old Peggy stomped her feet, refusing to accept a present.
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