Russell Stovers

My sister and I couldn't wait for Santa to come. We slept under the Christmas tree just hoping to catch a glimpse of the Claus! And somehow without fail before dawn he'd come and put packages under our tree and never disturb us. I'd like to think that was because my parents liked keeping the mystery alive for us as long as they could. But that would only be partially true.

 I was an unusually good gift guesser. I'd shake , weigh , sniff a gift until I knew exactly what it contained. I was even employed by other family members to guess what was in their gift wrapped goodies. Probably because my eyesight was so crappy that my other senses made up for it .  Or it could have been because  I was  very handy with a razor blade. I had become an expert at slitting open my packages slipping out the gift and rewrapping it without detection for years. And then acting so surprised on Christmas day.

This was a skill I learned from my mother. Every Christmas my mother's sister would send her a huge 5 lb box of Russell Stovers chocolate. And every year my mother would slit open the side of the brightly wrapped gift box , eat all the pieces with nuts, and then reseal the box and put it back under the tree to reopen with great joy on Christmas day - ( where apparently no one questioned all the empty papers lounging and crumpled in the box of chocolates- not a bright group) Until the year I caught her. And then we kept the secret. Plus I didn't like nuts anyway so what did I care.

One year my mom and I were performing an autopsy on the suspected chocolate box when it turned out to be a pair of white pants. She was livid. Like cuss out loud livid , which led into hysterical laughter and got us caught. By my dad. Who locked the gifts up in his car trunk.  Something he repeated every year the rest of my childhood. He took this as a personal challenge that we would never find another gift much less guess what it could be for as long as he had control. He went to great lengths to order unusual gifts just to see our faces.  For instance who in their right mind would guess that they'd receive a poncho made from the wool of an alpaca when you lived in Memphis?  Or a leather letter jacket from your high school when you never played sports, of any kind, EVER? 

Still I wouldn't leave me alone with gifts under the tree.  I'm not really shaving my legs..........