The Perfect Present

“Bill, what do you want for Christmas?”

I didn’t have to think. “An electric race car set.” The same thing I’d wanted the previous two years.

Mom was noncommittal, but I held on to my hopes. Since the Christmas catalog had arrived in September, I’d pored over and studied every page. Sports gear? Not my thing. Snow skis? We never had enough snow. Board games? More like bored games.

Always, my fingers flipped to the pages that held the sleek plastic cars, the black tracks, the handsets. Still years away from driving, my thoughts focused on speed and the elegance of the cars that always caught my eye. I almost drooled with longing as I stared at the colorful enticements. Large scale or small? Formula 1 or grand touring? I could hardly wait ’til Christmas.

The price tags at the bottom of the pictures always hinted at the real reason for my delayed gratification. Christmas was never extravagant with five brothers and sisters in the family. But each year I feasted my eyes on the printed pages while I dreamed and hoped.

Until that Christmas morning. One large box under the tree caught my eye, and I ignored everything else. My name was on the tag. My name! But, what if it wasn’t my race car set? I almost forgot to breathe and my heart pounded, but I tore off the bright paper and my jaw dropped. Two cars, red and white! Fifteen feet of track! Bounty beyond my wildest dreams! I would have hugged it, but it was too large.

I played with that toy for years, almost up to when I learned to drive, but it wasn’t until I became a parent that I realized what I’d received. Electricity may have propelled the cars, but it was love that made them run.

William R. Bartlett lives in Belton with his family.