The Slowest Present Opener in the History of the World

2007-11-29T19:16:00.001-08:00

[This article was published in the Tigard-Tualatin-Sherwood Times, Beaverton Valley Times, Lake Oswego Review and West Linn Tidings on November 29, 2007].

The Slowest Present Opener in the History of the World
By: Kristen Forbes

Lots of families have lots of holiday traditions: trimming the tree, singing festive carols, attending religious ceremonies, perhaps dipping heavily into a batch of spiked eggnog or cider. My family is no exception and the tradition which stands out most in my mind is this: Every Christmas, every year, my family ridicules and shames me over the manner in which I open my presents.

In my youth, it was a mild, well-intentioned chiding: “Oh Kristen, are you still working on that present from Grandma Florence? You’re a few rounds behind everyone — why don’t you just rip the paper like everybody else?”

With the onset of adolescence, it became more severe: “For those of you who want to eat today — and I’m guessing this means everyone except Kristen, Slowest Present Opener In The History Of The World — the food will be ready in five minutes.”

Finally, for the past several years, the ridicule I receive and annoyance my family feels toward me has reached an all-time low: “We put all your presents in gift bags so we don’t have to endure the never-ending pain of watching you take three hours to open a single box ever again.”

I’m not a paper ripper. It’s not out of respect for the paper — although I am a proponent of recycling wrapping paper and all paper, for that matter. It’s not solely for the purpose of annoying members of my family, either — although witnessing their extreme reactionary detest has certainly become an added perk.

It’s a way to buy myself time, that’s all. It’s a way to take in the rarity of having, for a moment, the whole family in one space at one time, showering each other with affection, love and commercialized gifts purchased at last-minute discount prices, and to take that moment and stretch it out for as long as conceivably possible (which, according to my family, means I devote a good portion of an hour to one particular gift).

Oh, for goodness sake. I don’t take an hour to open a present. I take maybe five to ten minutes, tops. And who’s counting the minutes, anyway, when we’re talking about family time?

My family, that’s who. They seem to feel the holiday can’t be enjoyed without utilizing a very particular and regimented, military-esque schedule.

In basic terms, the day begins around 6am. My sister, regardless of the time of year, is always the first one up. She used to pride herself on this fact, gloating about her ability to rise before sunlight — and then she had two kids who continually wake her up in the dead of the night and now she doesn’t brag about it anymore.

My sister’s first responsibility of the day is to wake me up and I’m going to level with you: this isn’t the type of responsibility I’d wish upon anyone, under any circumstance, ever.

I like to sleep. I cherish the time I devote to sleeping. I like comfortable beds. I like cozy pajamas and I like surrendering to that feeling of being sooo sleepy. I like to sleep.

This reminds me of another Forbes family tradition: pjs. The pajamas are the only gift we get to open on Christmas Eve. Since it’s the night before Christmas and nobody’s had his or her patience tested too severely, my family generally remains supportive of my drawn-out present-opening habit for the pjs and withholds the slaughter for the events of the main day.

Speaking of slaughter: back to my poor, sweet sister, undertaking the task of waking me up. Okay, truth time: I’m not the most pleasant person to be around before the hour of, say, noon. It’s generally a good idea for anyone who sees me before that hour to avoid attempting any sort of conversation or interaction.

Exceptions: I welcome anyone who brings me a hot cup of black coffee. I also welcome anyone who comes to me with a plate of deliciously prepared food. Breakfast is my favorite meal of the day and I can and will be coaxed out of my dark morning state for the promise of scrumptious edibles.

My sister always wakes me up, sans food or coffee (She’s smart, I swear. I really can’t explain this complete lack of judgment on her part.) I am just as nice to her as nice can be, always. And by nice, I mean that I abstain from yelling — it is a holiday, after all — and converse using a series of grunts, sighs, throat clears and pained expressions (which, by the way, have been carefully placed upon my face to convey my particular message: the horror, the horror of being woken at such a ghastly hour).

My sister and I open the presents from our stockings while waiting for my parents to rise (why they get to sleep in and I don’t is between them and Santa Claus). A typical sampling of stocking presents: Lottery tickets. Chapstick. Chocolate-covered coins. Chocolate in the shape of Santa and snowmen. Chocolate mints. Hot chocolate flavoring. Miscellaneous toiletry items and mini kitchen utensils. Pez.

My parents wake up and the coffee is distributed. With everyone in his or her place on the couch and hot beverages in hand, the main event proceeds and the presents are opened.

“Oh, I see Kristen’s changed a lot in the last year. Looks like we’ll be here for at least another forty-eight hours.”

“I’m going to the bathroom. Then I’ll look at the coffee cake. Maybe I’ll check my email, water the plants, call Grandma and get a jump on filing my taxes for next year. I’m sure I won’t miss anything while I’m gone.”

“Will begging work? Could you please just tear the freaking paper?”

Etc., etc. One would think I had made a derogatory comment about Saint Nicholas himself or declared Scrooge as my personal hero. Perhaps if I had, the mockery would be justified. But no—all I did was open some presents. Carefully and patiently, as only a careful and patient person could do.

For my family, I’m holding up three important events: breakfast, a combined lunch and dinner, and a movie. Breakfast always consists of Sarah Lee coffee cake, coffee, and sausage and/or bacon (also: soy sausage and/or soy bacon for me. Yet another reason my family adores me and my oddities).

Linner or dunch is roast for them, Tofurkey for me. (I will say this once and once only: don’t mock it until you’re tried it.)

The movie is either a “lighthearted comedy” or a “romantic comedy” or a “sports comedy” or a “war drama.”

So anyway: the meal, the next meal and the movie. These are the obstacles which become my nemeses throughout the day, preventing me from fully enjoying the process of unwrapping as only I can appreciate: carefully unpeeling each corner of Scotch tape. Gently pulling the tape back, sliding my hand underneath the other side of the paper the whole time to ensure no tearing. Unfolding, smoothing and straightening as I go.

Looking up to see everyone in my family staring, in unison, with gaping mouths, glazed over eyes, and expressions teetering between frustration, amusement, insanity, disbelief, rage and surrender.

“Just…rip…it…please,” one of them usually cries out in a last-ditch attempt to get me to change my ways.

But never, never do I give into the pressure. I will cherish and savor this time with my family for as long as I possibly can — or at the very least, until they all ditch me and start digging into their roast in the other room.

Kristen Forbes is a freelance writer living in Tigard. To view her blog, visit www.krissymick.blogspot.com