Half Cent Christmas Stockings

The night before Christmas. Sleeping is the farthest thing from a little girl's mind. After the magical candlelight Christmas Eve service, after the party and the present and the cookies and candy, after the late night hour and the hubbub of setting up the tree and making sure the little hand-made gifts are ready to be given to your sisters and brothers, and especially to your Mom and Dad, a Silent Night, Holy Night is not what you want.

I lay in my full sized bed in my big room tingling with excitement in the semi dark, the street light outside my window illuminating every dresser knob and closet door. I left my bedroom door open and strained to hear the muffled voices of my parents in the parlor beneath just faint enough that I couldn't tell what they were talking about. Paper rustled. Heavy things clunked on the wooden floor. Feet stomped on the cellar stairs as Dad retrieved some tool or piece of wire or box of supplies.

Sleep? Not on the calendar tonight. My sister tiptoed into the room, whispering that she knew what Mom had gotten me and I begged her not to say. I wanted to be surprised. I shushed her and put my fingers in my ears yelling "Nah, nah, nah, nah - I can't hear you!" and suddenly there was Mom threatening to spank us if we didn't get back in bed and go to sleep. How would Santa ever be able to come if we were still awake?

Sometimes I imagined I heard reindeer hoofs on the roof and a cheery Ho-ho-ho. I rolled over to stare out the window, hoping against hope to catch sight of Christmas magic. It was the one night of the year that I just couldn't go to sleep. After hours of waiting and butterflies tickling my tummy and shoulder hunching grinning, I heard my Mom quietly come up the stairs with a rustling package in her hands and head to my youngest sister's room.

I knew. I knew she was bringing up the fully loaded stockings that we had thumb tacked to the cardboard fireplace. Mom had made the stockings herself out of red and white flannel. They were huge. I could fit my whole self into one up to my arm pits. I counted the trips. One, two, three, four - that took care of my younger siblings. The next trip would be into my room. I closed my eyes and lay as still as I could. I tried to breathe as if I were asleep.

I felt the hallway light on my face, heard the little brush of the door against the floor, barely managed not to sit bolt upright. Mom lay the bulging stocking at the foot of my bed away from my feet. I nearly fainted as the wrapping paper crinkled quietly as she let go. She paused a long minute. I am sure she was checking to make sure I was really asleep. I lay dead still, ignoring the itch on my foot and the kink in my back. My eyelids were squeezed tightly shut. I hardly dared breathe.

Slowly she headed back to the hallway. I heard my door pulled halfway closed and Mom's steps on the stairs. Everything within me wanted to reach down and touch the heavy stocking lying there at the foot of my bed, just begging to be opened. But I knew Mom had one more trip to my older brother's room, and I couldn't afford to get caught. Not now. Not with the prize within reach.

I waited, lying ever so still, working hard to control my breathing, peeking through mostly shut eyelids at the open doorway. I saw Mom walk past and head towards my brother's room. Minutes later, I watched her go back down the stairs. Still, I waited, to make sure. To make sure she hadn't forgotten something or decided to come back up to check on us. Long minutes ticked by. It seemed like forever.

Gradually the house quieted. Mom and Dad headed to the kitchen for a late night snack. The heating pipes creaked. The wind whistled around the corner of the cupola. I could hear the regular breathing of one of the other kids.

I stretched my right foot down into the chilliness of the sheets and felt for the lump of the stocking. There it was! I pushed a bit. Paper crinkled. I stopped, fearful that it could be heard and would bring Mom running. No one moved. I scooted down under the blankets until my head was where my feet were, then poked my head out from under the covers right next to the bulging stocking.

I reached my hand out and felt the shapes of the presents inside. My stomach flipped over in excitement. I ran my hand along the side down to the toe of the stocking and felt the round softness of the orange Mom always put in the toe. A shiver ran down my spine. I reached to the opening at the top of the stocking and tried to count how many packages I could feel. Six, seven? Maybe even eight!

One present didn't fit in the stocking at all - a flat, wide package that looked like a huge artist tablet of drawing paper maybe. Ah, the possibilities were endless. I snuggled down in the warmth of the blankets and sighed with happiness. Now I could sleep and dream of the wonderful things I would discover in the morning.

Perhaps I dozed for five or six hours, but long before first light, my eyes flew open and I could scarcely contain myself. I knew Mom would just make me go back to bed if I indulged too early, so I just lay there staring into the dim gray wishing for morning to come. Gone were any ideas of reindeer or chimneys or Santa. Now it was just the unrelenting curiosity of the packages in the stocking at the foot of my bed.

I heard a noise and discovered my younger sister creeping into my room. "Are you awake? Look what I got!" she whispered.

"What? Did you already open a present from your stocking?"

"I opened them all! Come and see!" I followed her into the room next door, and there, strewn across her bed and the floor were the wrappings of her stocking gifts. The empty red sock dangled half off the bed, and the covers were filled with coloring books, puzzles, slinkies, jacks, bubbles, play dough, cookies, gum, combs, barrettes, socks - all the little gee gaws and gadgets that Mom had been collecting for over a year.

My eyes popped out. I felt betrayed. Suddenly, my younger brother bounced in the room, none too quiet, to announce that he had also opened his stocking and dangling a water pistol from one finger, chewing bubble gum. I could smell the sweet fruity flavor. Unfair! I headed back to my own room and shut the door. I wanted to discover my own presents without their constant interruptions and exclamations of "I got one too."

Besides, I still believed Mom would come and shut us down. After all, it was still dark outside. The clock barely registered 6am. I turned on the light and sat on the side of my bed, folded the green and blue flowered comforter over the sheets and began to methodically remove and unwrap each present, spending time to play with each toy and look through each coloring book and really appreciate each gift.

It felt like hours had gone by with all the wonderful presents. Actually, it was more like twenty minutes before my own red stocking lay empty and my bed was littered with wonderful gizmos and toys. At 7am we kids went downstairs to admire the tree and play with our new things and wait and wait and wait for Dad to get up and eat before we could open the presents under the tree.

I love Christmas! It's the one time of the year that my tummy butterflies are most active, not to mention tingling spines and goose bumpy arms. Can't you just feel the excitement?