POP! goes the Christmas Morning!

I was in the middle of 3 boys.  We did have a sister, but she didn't come around until later.  Christmas when she was here involved dolls, Easy Bake Ovens and stuff like that.  It is surprising how many things you can melt in an Easy Bake.  But I digress.
So, I was in the middle of 3 boys-I think I said that.  When we were of the ages that my older brother, Randy could read, or at least thought he could-we found out that cursive was not yet his strong suite-I could help unwrap things-a skill I was honing at the time, and younger brother Steve was starting to be useful in our adventures, instead of just a pain.  I would guess that Randy was about 7-old enough to think he knew way more than he did, I was around 5-parents did not try to make super kids back then, reading at 3 years old, so I was still illiterate, and Steve was 3, his birthday being exactly 1 year and 364 days after mine.
We were excited for Christmas morning to come!  Imagine a tribe of 3 little boys being excited about Christmas coming! Can you even imagine?!  It was such a long wait those last few days before Christmas, but we made it.

Christmas Eve we all went to our beds-in the same room.  We either shared beds or had bunk beds.  I don't recall, but, either way, I am sure we spent hours quietly discussing what Santa was going to bring us.  And we had to be quiet, as there isn't much excited chattering that can't be heard in a 750 square foot, two bedroom track house.  I think our parents wanted/needed to get to sleep themselves.
We must have fallen asleep, because we all awoke the same time.  Whispering to one another, we figured it must be Christmas Morning!  Meaning that Santa had come and gone and probably left us stuff!  What were we waiting for?!  Up and at 'em!

So we shuffled out of our room.  Young as we were, with Randy in the lead, we did not know the Rules of Christmas Morning yet.

Rule # 1--No stinkin' kids are to leave their beds/room until given official parental approval.

Well, since we didn't know the Rules, we assumed that some gift gathering and unwrapping would be in order.
But wait.  Mom and Dad were still asleep-snug in their beds while visions of sugar plums and all that.
So we decided to be Thoughtful Young Men and quietly close their bedroom door so they could continue their sleeping (and snoring-both my parents snored....).

After our kind consideration, we eased into the living room to see what Santa had brought.  To help explain what followed, you need to know that Santa would bring us each 1 gift, often something needed instead of the desired toy.  I do not recall what Santa left us that year, being 5 years old and all, but my point is that discovering the Santa treasures would only take us a few minutes.
When we were done with that, we noticed that Mom and Dad were still not up.  So, considerate youngsters that we were, we decided to go ahead and open the gifts under the tree, sorting them into separate piles for the members of our household.

Randy, being the oldest, smartest, and the only one who could read at all, had the task of reading the name tags on each gift.  Then we would open them and put them in a pile corresponding with the name.  Alas, cursive (you kids ask your parents or grandparents what "cursive" is) proved my big brother's downfall.  But that did not stop our diligent present opening and sorting.
We had a grand time.  Nothing like tearing open presents.  Every. Present. Under. The. Tree. Mine, Randy's, Steves, Mom's, Dad's, the relatives'.  And did it really matter that our three piles of stuff were the largest?  I just figured the folks planned that I would grow into the very large socks (I'm not sure how Randy mistook "Bill" for "Ricky"-the curse of cursive!)

When we finished our task, we looked around and realized-Still No Mom and Dad!
So we decided to "invite" them to our Christmas morning party.

Randy had got a pop gun for Christmas-at least I think it was his.  It might have been intended for me.  This was not one of those little things with a cork and string. No, it had a spring mechanism like in a Red Ryder BB gun.  You cocked it, air was magically stored somewhere, you pulled the trigger and POP!!.  A LOUD explosive sound.  Great fun!  Well, we quietly snuck into the parents' room.  Yep, still asnooze and snoring.  Randy cocked the pop gun (the noise of cocking the gun was the only chance our parents had to awaken un-startled, but they did not stir), held it kind of near Dad's ear (I wonder if this was the start of his hearing loss), and POP!!

My dad would imbibe a bit on holidays, and, looking back on it, I think he was probably quite sound asleep at the time.  And then he (and Mom) weren't.  In fact, they became wide awake quite quickly.  Funny how a loud pop gun near your ear will do that.

I remember some colorful language from my father about 3 AM, and we better get back to bed or Santa would NOT come, and....
I guess he then realized that the pop gun, at least had been discovered.

Well, my parents were not overly thrilled with all the work we had done in opening and sorting the Christmas parents.  In fact, I remember feeling kind of bad because Mom was kid of sobbing about us three hellions (again, ask your parents. Or look in the mirror) "ruining" Christmas.
I remember that we eventually got everything sorted out, cleaned up and there were eventually smiles from all family members.  Mom even cooked us breakfast.
And a memory was created (grandchildren, please do not get any stupid ideas-there are much better ways to go about memory-creating).

As a parent, there seems to be some pressure to make Christmas Special.  Every Year.  For Everyone.
Want to know a secret, you young parents?  YOU CAN'T DO IT!  Not with ribbons and tags and boxes and bags.  Not with Who Hash or roast beast.  Or even with a Sonic Screwdriver ("who" gets that?)

Christmas is already Special because-well you all know why.  Because of The Gift.  And because of what we can give Him.  And there is only one thing He wants from us. Our hearts.  When we learn to love Him and everyone around us, learn how to care, how to love and how to serve, then we "get" Christmas Presents.  From Him.  To share with others.

No, the three little Edge boys did not "ruin Christmas".  The real Gift of Christmas cannot be ruined, it can just be sought for, cherished and shared.

Even way back in 1950 something, I had a sense that Christmas was more than pop guns and Santa.  I felt it in family and in the sacrifices my parents made to take care of us.  Christmas was an opportunity for them to show us their love for us by scrimping and going without so we would have a sense that a greater power cared for us. I'm sure they did the best they could. And I love my parents for that.
I hope you kids and grandkids can feel our efforts to share this Love with you.