| Friday December 15, 2006 | ||
| Christmastime with my mom. | ||
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My mom specifically used Scotch
brand transparent tape when wrapping Christmas gifts because like an
insect trapped in amber she knew it would lift off the fingerprints
of an uninvited intruder.
Me. It is a lost art. Or a dying one at best. Opening gifts and resealing them prior to Christmas day. I was an expert. "There better not be any fingerprints in the tape when I get home," she'd say. What she meant was that if I tried to peel off the tape and peek inside any of the wrapped presents traces of the violation (my fingerprints) would be left behind trapped forever onto the glue emulsion side of the tape. She should have studied forensic science. Instead she was divorced with three kids. "I'm checking the gifts," she'd say when she returned, "If I find any fingerprints where they shouldn't be Christmas is cancelled." It was tough growing up with my mom. "I found a print but I can say with absolute certainty that it is mine. Christmas is still on," she'd say as she slid her magnifying glass back into its case. She was strict but I found ways around her madness. Method One: Pull on winter gloves (she often dusted the gift boxes for prints using Gold Medal Flour) and shake gift hard listening for any sound that might lead you to a conclusion to what may actually be inside. Not a new method but often leads to some excellent kid-like hypothesis. (Warning: Can be extremely disappointing when the gift is actually opened. My psychiatrist thinks that repeated disappointments brought on by Method One may have moved me from an optimistic child to an eventual pessimistic adult). Method Two: Remove lampshade and press wrapped gift against lit bulb. Occasionally (and if you're lucky) light may bleed through package allowing you to identify contents. (Warning: This method is risky. One year I did this and a small area of the wrapping paper became scorched. Christmas was cancelled that year but was later on again). My mothers explanation as to why Christmas was on again: "I cannot say with absolute certainty that the paper wasn't scorched prior as the cardboard box beneath the paper was not burned." Method Three (not recommended): My mother would frequently steam open letters written to my father prior to their divorce using a kettle on the stove. When the water reached a full boil steam would come out of a tiny hole in the nozzle and the kettle would whistle. One year while she was away I filled the kettle and turned on the gas. While the kettle whistled I held a small wrapped Christmas gift above the steam hoping to loosen the tape but unfortunately it was wrapped with some kind of plastic-like paper and a large area melted through. Desperate, I placed the gift atop a heat register close to where I had originally found it. Said my mother: "How did your Christmas present get on the floor?" "It must have fallen," I said. "The package appears to have been violated," she said. I said: "The heat coming out of the floor duct must have melted it." Two hours later she emerged from her bedroom and as she slid her magnifying glass back into its case she said: "I have done temperature readings and found that it is unlikely that the heated air coming out of the register could have done such damage to the wrapping paper. Also, I have found traces of H20 on the package. Additionally I have dusted the package using Gold Medal Flour and found your fingerprints atop the package. Christmas is cancelled." Days later Christmas was on again. Said my mother: "I think what you said happened probably happened," she said. Of course it was all an act, but I didn't know that then. Year after year I'd try to peak inside Christmas gifts. Year after year my mom would check for fingerprints and package violations occasionally cancelling Christmas but Christmas was always on. The Gold Medal Flour, the magnifying glass, her temperature readings. My mom could have been anything she wanted to be. |
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