Memoir
Matthew Allwood's Memoir: What Matters
Christmas at my house was something I always looked forward to and would never forget. Of course it was a time where we, as a family, would thank the Lord for sending his son to die for our sins, to spend time with each other, and reflect on past Christmas. But at the age of seven, all I could think about were those gifts under the Christmas tree. I was so caught up with the wrapping paper, the blue, the red, and the green colors that sailed across each present under the tree. How I yearned to sink my nails into those boxes and feast on the goodies there in! I would soon get my chance one night on Christmas Eve, just as soon as my parents went to bed.
‘Twas the night before Christmas and all through house, two parents were sleeping or maybe one spouse. My brother, my sister, and I were planning our annual raid of the Christmas tree.
“We will commence the raid of the tree at 12:01,” Michael said.
We all tiptoed down the stairs until we reached the last steps. “Matthew, we’re sending you out to retrieve the presents,” Michael and Melissa said sternly.
“Why me? I always go. Why don’t you send Melly-Mel instead,” I whined.
“Because you are the fastest one out of the three of us.” Melissa said in a convincing tone. “Why do you think we call you lightning?”
I was so naďve. How could the nickname “lightning” stir up so much confidence in my soul? That name is what usually got me to do anything for those two.
“I’ll do it,” I finally said.
I quickly zipped through the kitchen with no problem, trying to live up to that name. I was filled with confidence, until I came to the entrance to the dining room, which led to the living room where the tree stood. My father apparently was wide-awake in the den, which led into the dining room and had a direct view of the living room. The Mets must have been playing that night for him to be up this late, or so I thought. My heart almost walked into my throat. I decided to crawl across the dining room floor to avoid getting caught by him. I slid my way across the cold, wooden floor trying to bare the pain. At this point, I could hear Michael and Melissa arguing about who should go next.
“I’m the oldest so you should go,” said Michael.
“What does that have to do with me going. Besides you aren’t that much older than me,” replied Melissa.
“Try two long years. Now stop stalling and go before we get into trouble. Do it for the sake of your brothers.”
“No, why should I.” replied Melissa.
That remark would cost her a slap, which caused her to follow after me.
Meanwhile, I had already found my brother and sister’s gifts and was in the process of finding mine. One by one, I checked the names on the cards.
“To Mom, From the Kids. To Lloyd, From Olive. To Matthew, From Mom and Dad. I found it, I found it,” I exclaimed to myself.
I quickly picked up my present, which was bigger than Melissa and Michael’s presents combined, and was on my way out of the living room. Only one problem, how was I going to carry all those presents out the living room without getting caught. Fortunately, Melissa came in time to answer that problem.
“Did you find the presents yet?” she asked.
“Yeah, I found them. Come help with the presents.”
She quickly picked up the smallest gift and headed towards the kitchen.
“Melissa, why don’t you take mine and I’ll take the rest?” I said.
“No, now hurry up.”
Frustrated from her answer, I threw the gifts in my hands at her. In less than a second, Melissa was on top of me and her hands clenched my throat tightly. I guess she was still upset from the slap that Michael gave her.
“Get off me, get off me! Get your hands off my throat!”
Suddenly, a loud voice caught our attention. “What’s all that noise I hear out there? Michael, Melissa, Matthew, get to your bed.” my father yelled boisterously.
His voice echoed pass the dining room, through the living room, and straight into the depths of our hearts. For a brief moment, we were frozen, then we gathered up the gifts and flew out of the living room, through the dining room, and into the kitchen. Michael was already in his bed by the time we reached half way up the stairs. We tossed the gifts into my closet and jumped into our beds, just in case my father decided to surprise us with his presence. We waited anxiously for his arrival. After about two minutes, we realized that he was not coming. Two minutes after that, the floor was infested with wrapping paper.
Thinking back on that morning, the presents didn’t mean that much to me, although I did love my “G.I.Joe” action figure. The thing that did matter to me was the fact that I was with my brother and sister. The fact that we were together, ripping the wrapping paper off the boxes, and seeing their reactions to the gifts that they received means more to now than any gift I have received for Christmas.
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