Mary Andonian

This essay appeared in the San Ramon Valley Times, Christmas 2000.

Jingle-bell present had ring of deceit

By Mary Andonian

As the youngest of seven children, I had a childhood filled with good-natured abuse from my siblings. They loved to get my goat. Nothing was sacred, and the Christmas Eve when I was 6 years old was no exception.

My brother Greg had just arrived home from the Navy and a celebration ensued. He brought us all gifts, each in a colorfully wrapped box with an elaborate bow. All except mine, that is. No larger than the palm of my small hand, my gift was just a plain, white box, and when you shook it, it jingled.

"It's a jingle bell!" Greg said to me, as I shook it earnestly for the fifth time.

"No, it's not! You're just teasing me!" I responded. Inside, I felt desperate. This couldn't really be a jingle bell, could it? Why, it would be completely unfair! I had already tried to apply my superhuman sleuthing skills to figure out the contents. My sister Donna and I shared these superhuman skills. The powers -- along with a good razor blade for cutting tape undetected -- enabled us to know ahead of time what our gifts would be. It was no good. The box was meticulously taped and tamper-proof. I shook it again.

Jingle, jingle, jingle. Greg's words broke through my thoughts.

"Mary, I am not kidding. It's just a jingle bell."

I spat back, "It's not funny! What is it?!"

"Mary, for the last time, it's just a little bell. That's all it is." Greg said.

With that, I ran to my bedroom and slammed the door. I couldn't believe this brother of mine. Was he the same brother who sent me foreign coins from faraway places? The one who mailed me postcards with funny stamps on them, telling me of his weekly adventures? Didn't these cards and coins prove I was special to him? "So special that I only get a jingle bell!" I sobbed into my pillow.

My mom coaxed me to come downstairs. They were opening the presents from family members. Sniffling, I trudged up to my stack of gifts and scanned them. I thought Greg might have added the "real gift" to the pile while I was away, but no such luck. One by one, I began opening them. The first present was a giant-sized, plastic candy cane full of candy. (My superhuman sleuthing skills had predicted this one.) The second one was a Baby-Go-Bye-Bye. (On my list since March; this was a keeper.)

Next, a wood-burning set. (My mom never did get the concept of "age-appropriate.") A few more were opened. And then, slippers. Now, slippers fell under the clothing category; therefore, fell under the "rip me off now, Mama" category, as far as Christmas gifts were concerned. I had one gift left. The one from Greg. By now, everyone had opened their gifts and all eyes were on me.

"Great," I thought. "They want to see the dumbest gift ever opened."

I actually had one last shred of hope when I broke the tape's seal. I even held my breath a little when I lifted the box top. But when I peered inside, it was exactly as my brother had assured me. On a square piece of cotton, lay a small, silver jingle bell. "It really is a jingle bell!" I wailed as I broke into a fresh wave of sobs. Everyone laughed.

"Stop laughing at me!" I shouted. Greg leaned over and whispered in my ear, "Mary, look under the cotton." I quickly lifted the cotton and found a small note tucked underneath. My brothers and sisters leaned in as I opened the note and read: "Your real present is in the downstairs bedroom." I sat back and looked at my brother, still not comprehending the words.

He said, "Well, go on! Don't you want your present?"

With that, I bounded through the house and down the hall to the downstairs bedroom door. The others rushed behind me. Slowly, I turned the handle and looked down the stairs. Nestled at the bottom of the staircase was a brand new wooden sled with red metal trim. It glimmered, and I could almost hear the angels singing in chorus, "Hal-le-lu-jah!" I looked incredulously at the sled, then to my family, then back to my sled. This time, when everyone laughed again, I joined in.

"Merry Christmas, Mary," Greg said. Then, so only I could hear, "I told you it was just a jingle bell."

I wrote the Jingle Bell as an entry to the San Ramon Valley Times Christmas Story contest. The events are true. I'm grateful my family has given me so many wonderful stories to tell.

-Mary Andonian