As a child, I hated Christmas. I hated opening the presents. I blame my uncle's. My dad's brothers would hand out pranks for Christmas. There could be ten presents for you, under the tree, but only two of them would be, actual, presents. They handed out such things as rotten potatoes, dog shit, a rodent the cat killed, etc. And they would laugh, so hard. A lot of my cousin's would get the pranks and laugh and, sometimes, throw it at the uncle who gave it to them. I, however, didn't like it. I was all for buying presents. I loved shopping for other people. I, especially, loved giving them their presents.
My dad would give me money so I can go Christmas shopping. I asked him, "how much money are you giving me this year?"
"How much did you want?" Dad asked.
"$200." I answered.
Dad laughed, "fuck that!"
"$150?" I asked.
"I'll think about it."
I left it alone after that. We were on our way to Vancouver. Mom and dad had four girls together. Ruby was the oldest, then Jillian, Brenda and I was the youngest. Every weekend, me and Brenda would go to Vancouver to visit either Ruby, Jillian or mom. Sometimes they would share weekends with us and sometimes they would alternate weekends. We didn't care. As long as we had time to spend with them, we were happy. This weekend, we were visiting Jillian.
I was excited. Everytime we went to Jillian's house, she would take us to the Dolphin Theater. Jillian said it was cheap, compared to the other theaters. $2 regular price was cheaper than $5. And Jillian always had the $6 for our tickets and another $20 for our snacks and drinks. I was looking forward to it.
"You girls excited for Christmas?" Dad asked. We were, mere, weeks away.
"Yes!" Brenda squealed.
"No." I grumbled.
"Why not?" Dad asked. He looked, through the rear view mirror, at me.
I shrugged. "I hate presents, dad. You know that."
"Bullshit!"
"Dad! Every year, I tell you. You always get mad at me for opening my presents so slow. I hate opening presents."
"Well, I ask you every year cuz I know you're lying. You love Christmas."
"Nope."
"That's me, dad." Brenda bounced in the passenger seat. "I love Christmas. I, especially, love the presents."
"Can't you just give me my presents? You don't have to wrap them." I tried to avoid the presents every year.
"No."
"Can I open Sam's presents?" Brenda asked. Her big eyes looking up at dad.
"Go ahead. Just give me my presents after you opened them."
"No!" Dad said, loudly.
"Aww. Please, dad?" Brenda begged. She was 15 years old and she was begging to open my presents.
"No!" Dad raised his voice. "Sam's opening her own presents."
I stared out my window in the back. I sat behind Brenda in our blue Jeep Cherokee.
"What do you want for your birthday?" Dad asked me.
My birthday was coming up in less than a week. I was turning 10.
"Nothing. She hates presents." Brenda grumbled. "Can I open her birthday presents, then?"
"No! For fuck sakes!" Dad hollered.
