#NerdsUnite: Confessions of a ginger (Peekers Never Prosper)
<editorsnote> Nerds, meet my buddy Layne. I forget how we first started talking ... I think it was on twitter, and then we totes became besties on Facebook, and then we started reading each other's blogs and like commenting and like and like and like ... this chick is RAD annndd she's a ginger. No, seriously. Welcome to the world of Layne and the thoughts that are inside of her head. HIT IT GIRL! </editorsnote>
#TalkNerdyToMeLover's @redheadintexas
As a child, I remember the combination of joy and dread that came over me as soon as the tree went up at my house. Usually, my dad would wrestle the green plastic monster into submission the day after Thanksgiving (we usually had a fake tree). I got to do the tinsel at the end, which was my favorite part. I also loved to crawl under the tree, face up, and look at all of the twinkling lights all the way up to the topper. Then I had to write my Christmas list. Sometimes, I would just lay out the Big Toy Book from Toys 'R' Us (remember that thing?) and start copying down the names of everything from pages 3 through 17.
And then came the dread.
Part of it was due to the fact that I had a serious peeking problem. I COULD NOT STOP myself as a child. I wanted to squish and shake and smell every single colorfully wrapped box under the tree. I would check the corners and sides where tape would be used to see if some portion of the box within would accidentally show itself. The smell of all that wrapping paper and all those bows… it was too much for me. I was possessed with the Christmas spirit, and I knew one day, it would be trouble. One day, I would go too far, pull on a corner just a little too hard, and all hell would break loose.
And then it happened.
One night, I was sniffing around the tree when I came up with the clever idea that since there were SO MANY presents, how could my father possibly notice one missing? Surely I could open at least ONE PRESENT!!! I shoved my hand into the pile of boxes and pulled out a relatively small, lightweight package wrapped in silver foil paper with a green bow. I raced up to my room as though the boogie man himself were at my heels, dove under the covers of my bed and ripped open the package.
And then came the dread.
Now, I had to pretend like it never happened. I had to keep my guilt hidden from my dad and from the world. At this point in time, I was past believing in Santa and knew my father was the one responsible for all the loot under the tree on Christmas morning, so I wasn't afraid of Santa. While that's neither here nor there, I knew if I was caught, there would be hell to pay, because I was afraid of my father. And so, as any typical child would do this time of year, I completely overcompensated. I was yes sir-ing and no sir-ing my face off, offering to help with the dishes every night, cleaning my room daily, and just generally being a giant suck-up. Of course my dad knew something was up, but I think initially he just assumed it was my way of trying to secure more presents by being on my "best" behavior.
And then it happened.
Christmas morning: I awoke at the crack of dawn, sprinted out of bed and practically dove head-first down the stairs. I MADE IT! I thought, now, he'll never know! I'm scott-free! I settled on the floor, stocking in hand, and began the process of opening presents and watching my dad open his. When everything was done, I noticed my father picking through my pile of presents as though searching for something. What's he doing? It almost seems like he's look-- OH NO! NO, no no no no… not NOW. OH PLEASE DON'T LET HIM FIGURE IT OUT NOW!
My father looked me straight in my eyes and said: "Did you open a present before Christmas?"
You guys, I was never a skilled liar. I seized the opportunity to admit and hopefully relinquish my guilt the way a thirsty man might drown himself in a puddle. I came clean… which was followed by a wash of relief and then… and then…
And then came the dread.
How was he going to punish me? Grounded FOR LIFE? No Discovery Channel for a year? (Yes, when I misbehaved, my dad would take away the cable box in my room so I couldn't watch Discovery Channel. Any doubts of my nerd-status should be quashed with that revelation) What would it be? After the hollering abated, wherein my father asked me why on earth I would do such a thing and why couldn't I just wait until Christmas, and was it really going to be worth it now that I was in such deep shit?
Let me tell you, it was a combination of all of the above. Several of my "big" presents were kept from me until that summer. I think I lost my DC privileges for at least a month, and my father lorded that "incident" over my head for at least 2 years. At least. The real kicker is, I can't even tell you what was in the present I opened. Worth it? I think not.
The moral of the story is: good things come to those who wait. Also, don't do things that result in you having to keep the truth hidden, especially if you're a shit liar. Even if you don't exactly lie about something, hiding the truth is just as taxing. And when you get caught, own it. Admit your wrong-doing and begin the process of repentance. The things that drive us to do very stupid things are almost NEVER worth it in the end.
So, have you ever been caught peeking?
#nerdsunite
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