Sneaky at Christmas
In the days of my youth, I would have faked an illness to have a day at home by this date.
I was one of those kids who liked to pass off illnesses with unspecific symptoms. My mom was a forehead feeler, so I would get my scalp as close as I dared to get a little glow. Faking diarrhea and nausea were always good, non-specific symptoms as well. She was never going to watch to prove I had the squirts.
I did this each and every December from the time I was 8 until I was 14. To snoop for Christmas presents, of course.
And while my parents had to know what I was doing, never did they call my bluff (I guess when you’re the fourth of five children _ and a pain in the ass to boot _ anything goes, as far as parenting decisions (that’s why I was allowed to carry a pocket knife at 8 and had a BB gun by the time I was 10).
With my parents out of the way by 9 a.m. _ and nothing on television, remember these were the days before cable and satellite, where you got NBC, ABC, CBS and Public Television _ I was on the prowl.
First, I’d check all the old standby locations where mom and dad liked to hide presents. Their walk-in closet. The closet where they stored the vacuum, the divider by the front door.
Then I’d go to work on the presents already wrapped and under the tree.
Somewhere along the line, I pilfered one of my dad’s old man’s manicure kits. Little leatherette case that held tiny scissors, tweezers, nail file, nail clippers and a cuticle pushy-down thing.
Scotch-brand Transparent Tape is no match for a kit like that.
However, one year, mom bought the cheap stuff. It had stick. I botched one present’s colorful wrapping completely up (it was a real Wilson football).
Terrified, I devised a brilliant plan (in the eyes of a 10-year-old, it was foolproof). I got out our cat, Leo, held her claws out _ and scratched the wrapping paper to shreds on the corner I messed up.
Then I called my mom at work.
“Mom, Leo’s been messing with the Christmas tree,” I said.
“Uh-huh, what did she do?”
“Well, she clawed some presents.”
“Whose presents?”
“Well, one of mine.”
“Uh-huh. Did you see what it was?”
“Yes, but I didn’t want to.”
“Uh-huh. Well, just leave it be. And Thom _ leave all the presents alone.”Curiosity didn’t kill this cat _ but it was the last time I used a feline to cover up my crimes.
I was one of those kids who liked to pass off illnesses with unspecific symptoms. My mom was a forehead feeler, so I would get my scalp as close as I dared to get a little glow. Faking diarrhea and nausea were always good, non-specific symptoms as well. She was never going to watch to prove I had the squirts.
I did this each and every December from the time I was 8 until I was 14. To snoop for Christmas presents, of course.
And while my parents had to know what I was doing, never did they call my bluff (I guess when you’re the fourth of five children _ and a pain in the ass to boot _ anything goes, as far as parenting decisions (that’s why I was allowed to carry a pocket knife at 8 and had a BB gun by the time I was 10).
With my parents out of the way by 9 a.m. _ and nothing on television, remember these were the days before cable and satellite, where you got NBC, ABC, CBS and Public Television _ I was on the prowl.
First, I’d check all the old standby locations where mom and dad liked to hide presents. Their walk-in closet. The closet where they stored the vacuum, the divider by the front door.
Then I’d go to work on the presents already wrapped and under the tree.
Somewhere along the line, I pilfered one of my dad’s old man’s manicure kits. Little leatherette case that held tiny scissors, tweezers, nail file, nail clippers and a cuticle pushy-down thing.
Scotch-brand Transparent Tape is no match for a kit like that.
However, one year, mom bought the cheap stuff. It had stick. I botched one present’s colorful wrapping completely up (it was a real Wilson football).
Terrified, I devised a brilliant plan (in the eyes of a 10-year-old, it was foolproof). I got out our cat, Leo, held her claws out _ and scratched the wrapping paper to shreds on the corner I messed up.
Then I called my mom at work.
“Mom, Leo’s been messing with the Christmas tree,” I said.
“Uh-huh, what did she do?”
“Well, she clawed some presents.”
“Whose presents?”
“Well, one of mine.”
“Uh-huh. Did you see what it was?”
“Yes, but I didn’t want to.”
“Uh-huh. Well, just leave it be. And Thom _ leave all the presents alone.”Curiosity didn’t kill this cat _ but it was the last time I used a feline to cover up my crimes.
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