The Christmas Orange

I'm five...or six...or seven. It's 6:00 AM on December 25th and I'm awake but I'm the only one awake. I go knock on the door of my grandparents' bedroom, then my mother's, and then my great aunt. The adults don't really want to get up, but they don't keep me waiting for too long. I don't go downstairs. I know the rules. We can get up this early to see what Santa Claus brought but I have to wait till my grandfather goes downstairs to check to "see if Santa Claus has been here." To this day, I'm not sure what that was really about. As far as I know, he only turned on the lights before I was allowed to come downstairs.

The Christmas tree was surrounded by all manner of wrapped and be-ribboned (is that a word?) packages.

While the adults finished brushing their hair and teeth (why bother with that when there are presents to open???). I was permitted my stocking which was hung by a gold hook on the mantle piece and filled with small, wrapped presents AND an apple and a big orange in the toe of the stocking.

I resented that fruit in the bottom of the stocking. I mean, afterall, it was taking up precious present space and I could get an orange out of the refrigerator anytime I wanted -- and, I wasn't terribly fond of oranges anyway. So, I always casually tossed it aside and my grandmother would put it back in the refrigerator.

Evenutally I learned that Christmas was the only time of the year when my grandparents got an orange as neither one came from a privileged background. No more resentment about the Christmas orange after learning about that and another lesson from the grandparents who left such a profound impact upon my life.

My grandparents are still alive -- both aged 90 right now -- and living in their own home with my mother, their oldest daughter.

I doubt they meant the orange in the stocking to be a lesson in gratitude for their grandchildren but it was for me. This reminds me that we can never truly understand the impact we have on others even when we are not interacting with them directly.

Another Christmas come and gone -- another remembrance of that orange in my stocking from so many years ago.