Brown Boxes
I never knew we were poor until I hit 7th grade, and went to visit my a friend’s house before Christmas.
Things changed for many Christmases after my father died. I was 8. We had dinner with grandparents a walk away, but they never had a tree. My mother and I had tiny trees from the woods near us, and we made little paper chains and stars. We didn’t wrap presents because it was silly since we usually got the basics: underwear and a coloring book with crayons for me and original watercolor drawings of animals for my mother.
We had no relatives bringing bags of gifts ever, and honestly I never felt poor or deprived until I entered junior high. I made the mistake of visiting a new friend’s home, which seemed like a mansion to me. In their big living room was an 8-foot spruce tree all decked out in lights and really expensive, fancy bulbs. It was stunning. Under the tree were maybe 50 presents for a family of only 4 people. I was agog.
I left not jealous but forlorn because my friend was coming to visit my tiny home with a Charlie Brown tree and no wrapped gifts. I cried and fretted until my sweet mother consoled me. She said we had some brown grocery bags and string. We had a party with popcorn as we wrapped empty boxes and added some pine. Not 50 gifts but maybe 7-8 boxes. They looked pretty and real to me. Mom and I had a fun secret about the contents.
Well, when my well-endowed friend came to visit, she was kind enough not to ask about the brown paper packages. I don’t know what she told her family or other friends. I didn’t care as we removed the socks, underwear, and drawings from the brown boxes. Perhaps it was foolish, but my mother knew how embarrassed I might be with no wrapped presents. She was the most understanding mother in the world.
I learned a valuable lesson. I was really immature and selfish to want to impress a friend I hardly knew. The gifts of time and love outweigh all other gifts.
The simple Christmases with those you love are the ones you’ll treasure, not the cardboard and wrapping paper debris from a mountain of boxes. Trust me. We underestimate the power of two things: poverty and sacrificial love.
I love your mom-to-the-rescue memory! What a wonderful way to sooth your concern, teaching lessons to you and hopefully your friend! Thank you for this... just the pictures of brown boxes touched my heart. ❤️
Diane - I was in a very similar situation- my Daddy passed away when I was 12. The difference between us? Mother was not loving and understanding. The way I felt embarrassed was when I was at my maternal grandmother’s house. She lived in a very small house, with chickens & rabbits in the back. Not vets but food. If any of the 7th grade grade boys were riding bikes on that street, I always snuck next door to my Uncle’s house which was a new brick home with an attached carport and a large fenced in yard. After I was older I was embarrassed because I had not appreciated all the things my “Mamaw” taught me. Quilting being of of my favorites. She had such a hard life and at 11-12 years old I had been embarrassed. I love how your Mom understood and did what she could to help you feel better. That had to have been far richer than some of those with all they wanted, and maybe not what they needed.