Christmas Presents
Because Mothers save things - toys, boxes, bite marks, memories
“So this is Christmas, And what have you done? Another year older. And a new one just begun. And so this is Christmas. I hope you had fun. The near and the dear ones. The old and the young…”
The song played on a loop as I wrapped the last of my gifts yesterday, the kind of soft background music that somehow makes the room feel warmer. I saved one present for last — not because it was the biggest or the most expensive, but because I needed a moment with it. I left it out of the box, letting my eyes linger a little longer than necessary, letting the memories rise up, pool in the corners of my eyes, and spill quietly down my cheeks.
The box itself has held up surprisingly well over the years. A little worn, a little softened by time, with the unmistakable bite marks in the corner where our old kitty, Sadie, once tried to claim it for herself. The price sticker is still on the front — $12.99 — a reminder of a time when toys didn’t need batteries or screens, just imagination and a willing pair of hands. Funny how it now retails for $34.99.
It was the Fisher Price Little People School Bus.
Ordinary to most. Extraordinary to me.
Because on the back of that box is a picture of my youngest son, Christopher, taken when he was four years old. We made several treks to East Aurora, NY back then, to the Fisher Price headquarters, where they scouted local children for their toy packaging and catalogs. Christopher was a natural — bright-eyed, sunny, effortlessly charming. He ended up on several boxes and even the front of the toy catalog one year.
Of course I bought every toy he appeared on. And of course I saved the boxes.
The toys themselves have been tucked away in the attic all these years, well-loved and patiently waiting. And now, with a new little one in the family, it felt like the right time to pass them along — from one set of small hands to another.
Christopher’s daughter, Madelynn, is only two and a half. She won’t understand the history she unwrapped last night. She won’t know that the little boy smiling from the back of the box is her daddy. Not yet.
But as the wrapping paper flew and the room buzzed with Christmas chaos, I caught Christopher’s eye. He watched her lift the school bus, watched her tiny fingers explore the same toy he once adored. His eyes were bright, shimmering with unshed tears, as he mouthed, “You saved this?”
Of course I did.
Because mothers save things — toys, boxes, bite marks, memories.
We save the pieces of childhood our children forget to hold onto.
We save the proof of who they were, so one day they can see who they’ve always been.
And as the song drifted through the room once more — another year over, a new one just begun — I realized this wasn’t just a gift for Madelynn. It was a gift for him too. A reminder that every season of his life has been cherished, kept safe, and wrapped gently in love.
Christmas Presence.
Dads do as well.
Amazing article 👏🏻