In the shower today (that’s the only place I have peace), I remembered an event from childhood. I was 6 maybe 7. Our class had a gift exchange. I remember my mom bought a gift for the exchange that I desperately wanted. I can’t remember what it is now, but I do know it was fun and I couldn’t wait to see what other mom’s had bought for the exchange.

What other magical gifts would be inside the bag? The whole class was bristling with excitement. Our teacher stood at the front of the room with a large garbage bag. The huge black ones that only schools and institutions have access to.

One by one we stepped up to the bag to feel around and hope for the best gift.

Earlier we saw Julie put her gift in the bag. It was expertly wrapped. With a beautiful bow on top. Much prettier than anyone else’s. And we all wanted it.

I watched on pins and needles as each of my classmates went up to bag. Each time they pulled out a gift we held our breath. Nope. Not Julie’s gift, not yet. Then my name was called!

So excited, I ran up to the bag. I knew how to feel around and find Julie’s gift. I knew I was going to get it. I reached in and found that perfect bow, felt for the crisp edges of the neatly wrapped box. I found it!

I pulled it out and with a huge sigh from the crowd I walked away with my prize. I had the best gift of the whole bunch!

We had to hold on to our gifts until everyone had one to open. I sat with the box in my lap, the envy of every kid in the room. And I loved it. For once I was getting what I wanted. As the oldest of four siblings I was expected to share my things and give up what I wanted so the youngest (who cried the most) could have it.

But here and now I had the best gift, at last. And it was all mine!

Then came the moment of truth. When we all open our gifts.

I envision a barbie in a beautiful dress and decadent shoes. Or a doll baby with spoon and bowl.

What I got was a box of Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs SOAP.
SOAP.

I looked around at my friends as they played with matchbox cars and makeup sets even the gift my mother had bought. And I looked down at my once perfectly wrapped, envy of everyone, box of soap.

I’m sure when Julie’s mom picked this out she thought the little green faces of each of the dwarfs were adorable. That anyone would love to have Seven little heads to use for scrubbing their hands. Not I. I was sorely disappointed.

I learned a few things.
1. Never judge a gift by it’s wrapping paper.
2. Never buy soap for a grab bag for 6 year-olds.
Far too cruel a thing to do.