Yesterday my future step children, 6 and 8, gave me birthday cards that they had made by hand. I’m new to this, but I was sure it would be one of those special moments that I would treasure for a lifetime.
Justin, the youngest, went first. His handmade envelope was trapezoid shaped. Or it would have been if two sides had been parallel. “I ran out of staples, so I had to finish with tape,” he explained as I tried to figure a way in. I decided to enter through the taped side to avoid serious staple-related injuries.
Inside was another and different near-trapezoid-shaped object that I deduced was the card itself. I opened it to reveal its wonders. In the lower right hand corner was a scrunched up dollar bill mummified in adhesive tape. Just above it was about six cents in change, equally mummified. I was touched because none of my cheap bastard friends thought to include money in their cards this year. “Thank you,” I gushed. “This is exactly what I needed!”
Next to the money was a creatively spelled birthday message. On the inside left page were two drawings on separate paper, carefully stapled into place. One was a pencil drawing of a wrapped gift, complete with full artistic perspective and a detailed ribbon. I had been working with Justin on his art, but this was way beyond where I expected him to be. Below that was a drawing of a five layer cake, again with perspective and this time even proper shading.
I just looked at him and said, “Wow! Did you draw these?”
Those of you that have more than one kid already know where this story is heading. I discovered the source of these excellent drawings when steam started shooting out of his sister’s ears. Apparently these were her artwork. Justin had seen her drawings of a wrapped present and a birthday cake and naturally thought they’d be perfect for my card. So he grabbed some scissors and saved some serious drawing time. He’s all about efficiency.
“What’s the problem?” he protested as his sister did a Mount Vesuvius impression. “They’re only stapled in there. You can just take them back out.” While their mother and I were able to step in and prevent any sibling bloodshed, it was not the Kodak moment I had hoped for. But in its own way, it was special.
I’ll always wonder if he knew that this would be the perfect crime against his sister. We explained the wrongness of appropriating her artwork, but under the circumstances, any other form of penalty seemed inappropriate.
The problem is that he learns quickly. I’m guessing that next year my gift will be his sister’s American Girl doll broken into small pieces and glued on a paper plate.