The camera

  
Column by Nan Russell
www.nanrussell.com

It wasn’t any camera. It was the revolutionary Kodak Instamatic, housed in a shiny black case, with a built in flashcube, using a 126 cartridge. All my high school friends had one, or so it seemed to me. I told my parents it was the only gift I wanted that Christmas.

I made certain they knew which one it was. On separate trips, I took my mother and father to the camera store to show them this new technology that excited me. I even tore an ad from a magazine and taped it to my wish-list so they wouldn’t make a mistake.

Raised in a lower-middle-class family, our Christmas presents tended to be practical. I could count on new pajamas, slippers, underwear, socks, maybe a sweater or blouse, then two or three little things, plus my one big present. I knew the Kodak camera was more expensive than the gifts I usually received, so I strategically informed my parents I didn’t want or need anything else.

Tradition on Christmas morning in the Schindler household was to take turns opening presents so we could watch each other savor a gift. My mother went so far as to wrap each pair of socks or underwear in separate packages so there were more presents for my brother and me to open. Of course, our last box held the big one.

Since the gifts I opened that morning had all been practical, I knew my parents had gotten me the camera. So with surgical precision and intentional drama, I slowly unwrapped my last present.

The box held a camera, but not the camera. I starred quietly at the gift my parents had purchased. It was a brand I’d never heard of. Didn’t they realize it wasn’t just any camera I wanted? I didn’t try to hide my disappointment or attempt a polite smile or thank you.

“I know you wanted a different one,” my mother started softly. “But your dad spent hours researching just the right model. He wanted to make sure it was a good one and would last. This is a better camera than the one you asked for,” she said.

I couldn’t stop my tears from flowing. That Christmas I didn’t see the thoughtful gift my father researched, the love in my parents’ eyes, or the financial sacrifice they’d made to delight their daughter. That year I missed Christmas. I was looking for it where it wasn’t.

In the scheme of things, that camera served me well. It accompanied me to college, and my father, if he were alive, would relish knowing it was a very good camera indeed. Decades later it’s still part of my life. I keep it as a reminder that Christmas doesn’t come in a box, it can’t be found in the trappings, and isn’t about the stuff we get. In these difficult economic times, may we all be reminded where to find Christmas.