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3:22 p.m. - 2010-11-16
The Package
The box containing the birthday present had holes cut into it. My mother's expression told me this was not a good thing. There it sat, amongst civilized packages with shiny paper and curly ribbon. It scratched and gnawed. Maybe it even smelled a bit. The giver was someone I didn't know very well. I had invited the whole class. Her parents dropped her off without introducing themselves. Cautiously, she carried her animated gift, setting it down with an eager smile. The party proceeded without incident. The obligatory Pin the Tail on the Donkey, Drop the Clothespins in the Bottle, Musical Chairs. Like clockwork, cake was served, a flaxen Barbie poised amidst the sweet confection, swirling about her like an edible hoop skirt. The traditional birthday song sung, it was time to open presents. The anticipation of undershirts and day-of-the-week panties hung a humid tension in the air. Gingerly, I took the first box. My best friend squealed as I retrieved a frilly sweater, the color of a ripe plum. The next box revealed a Golden book, Cinderella in her gilded coach. As I reached for the box with the holes, it seemed to jump. Startled, I almost dropped it. "Careful," my anonymous friend warned. My mother hovered disapprovingly as I gently lifted the edge of the lid to find a hamster. Scurrying frantically. No cage. No food. Just a tiny hairball, caramel and milk. I looked at my mother and knew instinctively that no amount of begging, promising or crying would be of any effect. Sadly, I replaced the lid, sure that if my eyes lingered I would fall in love. By the time the girl's mother arrived, my mother was mobilized. Her usual social graces dissolved in cold fury, as she told her that a live pet is no kind of gift. Caught off guard, the woman feebly tried to explain that we could keep the hamster in the bathtub until we could buy a cage. My mother handed her the package, the one with the holes in it. "Thanks, but no thanks!," she shouted as the woman scrambled into her car. My mother occasionally referred to this as one of her defining moments, a backbone moment. I don't know if I understood at the time, but, looking back, I was proud of her. Standing up to the woman was nothing compared to saying "no" to me. She seemed invincible that day. A superhero in a taffeta dress.

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