Either you’re a snooper or you’re not.
Christmastime is here, and with it the tradition of giving gifts, especially to our children. Most kids try to figure out what their presents are, even if the parents never know it. Most also eventually outgrow it, but I’ve heard stories of grown men who still snoop and peek.
Snoopers lead exciting secret lives, but also carry a lot of guilt around with them. It’s hard knowing secrets without being able to unload your knowledge on someone else. Snoopers know what they’re doing is wrong, but they can’t help themselves. They have to be good actors, too, because they have to pretend they are surprised when they open the gift.
My boys are the worst. One is 15, the other 22. They’ve discovered through the years that I keep a list of what all I’m giving to whom, and have come to realize that if they can find “the list”, then the rest becomes a treasure hunt. They already know what they’re looking for. They claim that it doesn’t ruin the surprise for them; the surprise just comes earlier. But they still carry around the guilt.
I’ve gotten pretty dern good at hiding stuff, mostly because it is required in a snooper’s house. But nothing is foolproof. One year the oldest found “the list” and knew he was going to be getting, among other things, a cell phone. While I was gone, he tore the house apart. He finally found the cell phone in the attic inside one of the suitcases there.
He played with it all day, carefully repackaged it, and pretended to be completely surprised on Christmas morning. It wasn’t until several years later that he ‘fessed up to knowing all about it. No telling what else they had found since then, because I used that suitcase-in-the-attic hiding place for years.
When I was young, the suspense of not knowing what I might be receiving was too much to bear. I was a snooper from the word go. I’d wait until Mom was gone, then rummage through closets and other places I thought would be great hiding places in hopes of finding some clues.
One year I found a cache of boxes of all shapes and sizes underneath her bed. The first thing I thought was, “I’ll never hide presents under my bed when I’m a mommy. It’s the first place we look!”
She was away one day and I carefully went through the boxes, one by one. The most exciting find was several pairs of cowboy boots; it looked like everybody in the family would be getting a pair. I carefully tried on each pair to see which ones were for me. I was despondent when I discovered none of them fit.
I returned to the bed on a daily basis, hoping boots that fit my little feet had been added to the stash. Every day I was disappointed. All my brothers and sisters would be getting boots, but I was not. I cannot tell you how sad I was.
Then on Christmas morning, there was a boot-shaped box under the tree with my name on it. When I opened it, there were the boots I had assumed were for my big brother because they were about two sizes too big for me. I was SOOO happy that I had a pair of boots, and wanted to shout, “I thought these were for him!” but of course I couldn’t because then my mom would know I had been snooping.
I’ve begun hiding the presents at the office and at neighbor’s houses, but at some point I have to bring them home and wrap them. You and I both know that a snooper is also a peeker. A peeker will carefully unwrap the ends of the gift to look for clues. If nothing is written on the ends of the box, then it’s nothing for them to unwrap the whole thing. The guilt thing is still there, but it doesn’t stop them.
Well, this year, I think I have the best hiding place I’ve ever had. And I’m not bringing out their main gifts until midnight on Christmas eve.
My son is at wit’s end.
