I got a doll carriage for Christmas when I was six “going on” seven. That’s the only thing I wanted, and just about the only thing I got. It was the cheapest one my folks could find. I took it out, proudly wheeling my doll baby, and the first time I tried to maneuver the thing off the sidewalk to cross the street, the wheel bent and broke. I struggled, but managed to get it back to the house. I called to my mother from the patio doorway to show it to her and was not prepared for her reaction. She started screeching and screaming at me that I had deliberately “mangled” the carriage and if I thought she was going to replace it, I was “sadly mistaken.” She kept asking me over and over again what I had done to damage it. I kept telling her, over and over again, that I had done nothing. The hand came out and cracked me across the cheek so quickly that I didn’t see it coming. I starting sobbing that I had done nothing to break the carriage, I loved it and would never do anything to damage it. Each denial brought another blow—on the same cheek I might add. I finally “confessed” to deliberately breaking the carriage as it was obvious, even to my childish mind, that that was the only answer she would accept which, in turn, would stop the hand. She made a big show of taking the carriage, spilling out the doll and blankets, then throwing it into a heap by the garbage can.
After Christmas break, I was repeatedly asked, “whadja get?” for Christmas. I regaled my classmates with lies of presents picked out just for me, by sober parents who cared... (as it was not likely they would ever be invited to my house to play with any of my things.) Instinctively, I displayed childish wisdom to hide the stigma of parental alcoholism.
This is meant as a gentle nudge to parents: Please caution your children not to ask what others receive for Christmas, Hanukkah, Kwanza, or any other celebratory holiday. Those children who want to share will do so without prodding; those who don’t will be grateful for the kindness of not being asked.
