“Mary Ella, we think you are ready to take part in the present swap.”
It was September of 2009 when I heard the words that all young children in my family wait their whole lives to hear. This meant that I would no longer get presents from everyone like a little kid. Instead, I would get to leave with one present for which I fought hard and worked. The present swapping game is one of the most intense traditions of a Rinzler family Christmas (apart from charades), and I got to be a part of it. I no longer cared about the quantity of presents. All of those silly, naive worries that previously consumed me suddenly seemed childish and trivial and were flushed out of my mind without a second thought. Now, the responsibility of choosing a present that had to interest everyone, yet could appeal to any individual in my family, overwhelmed and excited me. This was a big deal, to my seven year old consciousness: I had been moved up to the big leagues of my family; I was now considered an adult. For the next three months, I never turned my mom down when she asked if I wanted to run errands with her. After about a month of what felt like endless shopping, I saw it: The Perfect Gift. There it was, right before my bright green eyes, in the kitchen section at a homegoods store. They were ice cubes made of metal used to prevent a drink from being watered down while still keeping it cold. I knew this would be a suitable gift because every time my dad ordered a drink at a restaurant, he ordered it with only one ice cube, so as not to water down the drink too much. The most amazing part was that even I, a lowly seven year old, could relate to these shiny metal cubes. Chocolate milk is only good when its ice cold, but once it gets watered down, it is barely consumable; all of a sudden, I gained a glimmer of hope that it would be possible for me to end up with a present that I could actually enjoy. I bought my present with pride and hid it in the most secret place; a corner of my closet, so that no one would be able to find it.
The highly anticipated day had finally arrived. On December 18th we headed up to my grandma’s house to start our Christmas celebration. It might seem strange that we celebrated Christmas on any old random weekend rather than on the glorified day of December 25th, but really this was normal for us. We always celebrated the weekend before. When we arrived, I felt a strange mix of overflowing excitement and a bit of nausea. The present swapping game is not played until the next evening, so after eating so much food that our stomachs were bites away from bursting, I went to bed dreaming about how the next day would play out.
The next day we whittled away the time until dinner by cleaning and organizing the house, tending to the garden, and taking out the trash. After dinner, though, was when the real fun started. It was around nine o'clock when we were all done cleaning up from dinner, and we made our way into the living room. My heart was pulsing harder and louder than ever before. Everyone was talking about the current political and socio-economic climates, but not a single word of it sunk into my brain because I was staring down at the presents under the tree. I found where I had placed mine and had made predictions about what every present could be by the time the conversation waned. I was nervous as my grandma walked around with a handful of folded up papers. Each paper had a little blue number on it, indicating when in the rotation each person would get to have their turn. For the first full rotation every person would go up to the tree and choose, by the shape and size of the gift alone, the one present that he thought suited him best. During the following rotations, the participant’s options were keep the present they already had or to swoop in and steal someone else’s present, leaving that person with the second-hand present. The game ends when everyone passes. It was almost my turn to pick a number, and my favorite spot in the living room left me picking second to last. “YES!!!” I screamed out in an indulgent moment of pride and elation. I was last. This way everyone had made their move for the round by the time I went and if someone stole the present that I wanted to keep from me, I could just steal it back at the end of the round.
I had scouted out the present I wanted beforehand, but unfortunately my brother had swiped it during his turn. We clearly had the same line of thinking because we were both going for the biggest present. It was a blanket. The most beautifully shimmering grey, two textured blanket, and as if it couldn't get any better, this amazing piece of art was lined with silk. I knew what had to be done; as soon as it was my turn, I silently walked up to my brother, took the blanket, and placed my present (a bottle opener) in front of my brother’s feet without saying a word. I bit the inside of my cheeks as I struggled to hold back a splitting smile. I sat back down in my seat, having made my first bold move as an adult of the family, and it felt amazing.
After two passes and a swap between my grandma and my aunt, it was my uncle’s turn. I was excited to see what he was going to do. At that moment, he was a hero to me because he had brought the blanket that currently engulfed and bundled me with warmth. What happened next was certainly a plot — My uncle took a card out of my book. He was ruthless, and suddenly I could sense his next move from the blazing look in his eyes, which were now directed straight at me and my new blanket. My uncle, who we called Buncle Todd, picked me up as if I were a feather. I was mortified; he was treating me like a child when I clearly was not. Just as easily as he had lifted me up, I felt myself back in my seat, but the blanket was gone. My uncle had it draped across both shoulders as if he were using it to mop up the sweat from the back of his neck after a pick up basketball game. He sat down and tossed his old present, oven mitts, right in front of me then continued on as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. I was abashed. How could I have let this happen? I should not have gotten so attached to the blanket.
It was too late now. I would not accept defeat, and I would get back the blanket. Round after round the heated intensity of the game heightened as we stole the blanket back and forth from each other. It was the tenth round, and I was currently in possession of the blanket when the most desirable words I ever imagined to hear came out of my uncle's mouth: “I pass.” With a smile that stretched from ear to ear, I realized what I had accomplished; not only had I gained my freedom from the restraints of childhood, but I fought hard for what I truly wanted, proving that I deserved the place in the family I had been granted. Now nine years later, I still have the blanket, which I christened “Buncle Todd.” Every time I see it I am reminded of the respect I gained from fighting for what I wanted. As I grow into an adult in the “real world” I have noticed that the tenacity I developed from being in the present swap at such a young age has helped me go after what I want whether that is a certain grade in a class or an internship at a sports medicine practice or a cozy blanket.