Christmas was probably the most important holiday in our home during my childhood. My mother would start weeks beforehand to go out shopping for gifts. She would hide the wrapped presents in her and my father’s clothes’ closet and under their bed.
When she came back from a shopping spree, she’d close their bedroom door while she was wrapping the presents. If we stood outside the door, we could hear the paper rustling. My mother would get annoyed if she came out of her room and found us standing there.
I must confess that I was a professional (obsessive) present-peeker. While my mother was off foraging the shopping malls for more presents, I developed various refined techniques to peel off the scotch tape without damaging the paper and peek inside to see what was within those presents she had already wrapped. I would put the presents back in their original form and position in the closet with a thief’s cunning and precision.
The first year that I discovered my innate scotch-tape-peeling talents, I opened all the presents: mine as well as the rest of the family. This resulted in a Very Flat feeling of celebration on Christmas Day morning because I knew the content of all my gifts even before I was handed the packages.
From the next Christmas on, I only looked at other people’s presents and revelled in the fact that “I know what you’re getting, but I am not telling you!” Not that I would have actually taunted my siblings with this knowledge. Oh no, not me!
Naughty, naughty. OK, I was a peeker too, but like you, I pulled the plug on the habit because of disappointment. A surprise is much more fun.
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