Linda, Tom, and Ann have already determined their choices, but Stevie, even this short a time before the big day, is undecided. The hour is growing late, and the department store will soon be closing. Still, Stevie, increasingly more and more nervous, in a frenzy of searching up one toy aisle and down the next, simply cannot make up his mind. The other three children, angry with him, tell him to hurry up.
“We won't get a chance to tell Santa what we want,” Linda says. “Santa will be going home soon!”
“Yeah!” Tommy says. “You're going to ruin Christmas!”
Now poor Stevie is really stressed!
Finally, looking at his watch, their father says, “Okay, that's it, Steve! We have to go see Santa right now. Settle for something, and come on!”
Soon the four of them are standing in line before Santa's throne. Stevie keeps slipping back to the last-in-line, but eventually he has no choice but to go forward.
Santa pulls him up onto his lap. “Well, Sonny!” he booms, “what do you want me to bring you for Christmas?”
Stevie looks back at me in poignant desperation, then blurts out, “A turtle!”
When he rejoins us, I ask, “Why a turtle, Stevie?” He has never even mentioned such an animal before to my recollection.
He is still visibly shaken. “I couldn't think,” he says.
Aside to me, my husband, in a whisper, repeats the question. “Why a turtle?”
“How should I know?” I snap. That's all I need! I think – the added concern of finding a turtle at this late date! I feel the annual pressure of my Christmas Funk coming on.
As it turns out, my husband saves the day, not to mention my sanity, by assuming the turtle responsibility. Thanks to him, under our tree on Christmas morning, among an infinite number of toys and brightly wrapped packages, is a cute little snap turtle in a tiny Plexiglas aquarium.
Stevie seems pleased with it – perhaps not ecstatic, but reasonably pleased.
“What will you call him?” I ask.
“Turtle,” he says.
“You know, Steve,” his father says, “you're responsible for a living being now. It's up to you to make sure it's cared for and doesn't go hungry.”
Stevie's little brow is furrowed as he nods his head in agreement.
In the days that follow, I often have to remind him before he goes out to play, or when he's off on a house-bound adventure with his siblings, “Stevie, did you feed Turtle? If you don't feed it, you know, it will die.”
This goes on for weeks on end -- “Stevie, did you feed Turtle? Stevie, if you don't feed it, it will die. Stevie did you feed Turtle?”
Finally one day, while playing outdoors with friends, he calls back, “You know what, Mummy? IF IT DIES, IT DIES!”