The Broken Gift

As I stood outside pulling car duty for the car-riders waiting to be picked up by their parents this afternoon, one little fellow seemed happy enough. He stood beside me grinning, and carefully held what looked like a Christmas gift. It was wrapped in a Christmas patterned paper, with a little red ribbon tied at the top to hold it together.

I scanned the area to make sure none of the children were stepping into the driveway itself as car after car slowly pulled up and stopped. Safety Patrol students (5th graders) stood on the curb ready to open doors and to make sure kids got into the cars safely and in a timely manner.

Suddenly, the little boy beside me cried out with accusation, "Hey!" I looked down to see what had disturbed his peaceful world. The gift he had been holding was now laying on the ground.

He stooped to pick it and said, "She kicked me!" The girl standing in front of him turned and said, "I didn't kick him. I was jumping and I bumped into him." She was about as little as he was.

His face was twisted with hurt and disappointment. "It's broke!" he cried.

"What's broke?" I asked as reached out to touch his shoulder. I wanted to calm him down. He looked ready to cry. He must have thought I was going to take his gift and he let it go, but my hand wasn't there to receive it, and it fell to the concrete a second time. I heard the dull sound of broken pottery. It was definitely broken whatever it was.

It was more than his little boy's heart could take. His face crinkled and his eyes shut and tears flowed. He tried not to cry loud, and he tried to speak at the same time. "I made it for my mom. It's a vase. It's broke!"

I took it from him, still wrapped up and for all appearances, still a gift. It had not lost its shape, but the slightest movement reported the sound of fragments jostling about inside. It was indeed broken. Shattered. Unrepairable.

He cried and cried, and the little girl by then had gotten into her car to go home for the holidays.

I knelt down beside him and hugged his little shoulders as the broken gift sat in my hand. I imagined that he had worked hard to mold the vase out of clay, and he must have thought how pleased his mom would be, how surprised and happy to see it when she opened his gift. I could imagine his little tongue sticking out as he concentrated on every aspect of molding it and pinching it and rolling it. No doubt, it would be the only gift he had planned on giving her, and she would treasure it for all the days of her life.

I tried to console him, but even I could not replace what he had made for her.

"Look, I'm sorry it broke. It was an accident. You can make mom another gift. There's a couple of days left til Christmas." He nodded, but kept crying silently. "When your dad comes home, tell him what happened, okay? Tell him how it broke, and ask him to help you make mom another gift. I'm sure you'll find something really nice that she will love. Can you do that?" He nodded, but I knew he was just trying to get away from talking about it anymore.

Just then, his car pulled up, and there was his mother, looking very concerned as she had no doubt been watching me for the past five minutes kneeling beside her son, hugging him. She could see he was crying. I had to give her some explanation.

He was a brave kid. Wiped his eyes completely dry before getting into the car. Didn't want mom to see him crying. This is a second grader. Already trying to be the man.

I walked around to the driver's side, and she rolled down her window. I didn't know her name, but I'd seen her around at school functions. I leaned in, she leaned out, and in this way I whispered into her ear a summarization of why her son was crying. I had to break the surprise in order to explain his grief. She nodded understanding, thanked me for telling her, smiled, and drove away.

I walked back into school feeling helpless. If I had had the time, I might have located his teacher, found some clay to send home with him, and at least he might have made another one. But his teacher could be anywhere in the building, and there might not have been any clay left, and his mom had already pulled up.

Somethings get broke and can't be fixed. Life fact. I can't fix everything that breaks or goes wrong. I can't even fix half of the things that break. However, as a mother, I know that his mother will think of something to soothe his hurt pride, and she will allow for him an opportunity to give her something even more special, and someday, he may even forget the broken vase incident.

Sharing his grief for those few minutes, though, did remind me of the passion and anticipation of Christmas that children have plenty of and adults often lose sight of. When was the last time I had made something with my hands, so focused and with such commitment and love for the person it was being made for? When was the last time I cried when something I had made for another broke?

I think as we get older, we are better able to roll with the punches, to go with the flow, to make lemonade when we're given lemons. We learn not to let every disappointment do us in. We learn practical, healthy strategies that protect us and strengthen us as we come up against the things of this world that would knock us down, physically or emotionally.

This little second grader will discover this, too, by the time Christmas celebrations are over. His hurt will be gone, his disappointment forgotten, and his pride returned. He'll also be more careful next time he's standing in the car-rider line holding something precious.

He'll hold it closer to his heart, or put it in his book bag.