A Simple Gift

There was a knock on the door of my apartment. I scratched my bald head. “Better not be those noisy kids again,” I whispered, slowly rising from my chair to open the door.

“Merry Christmas, dad,” the visitor said cheerfully.

I raised my voice. “What are you doing here?”

“Oh dad. Let’s forget the past for now. Don’t you feel the Christmas spirit?”

“Do as you please. I’m not welcoming you in.” I sat on the couch and opened the television. It had been years since my children visited me. But I did not care, not one bit. I left that family some decades ago.

My son closed the door and sat across me. “Here, dad. I’ve got a gift for you.” He presented a small white box not even wrapped.

“I don’t want your cheap gift.” I glanced away.

“Don’t say that. Come on, just take it.”

“You can get out now.”

Moments later, he placed the gift on the table and left without a word. I sighed. “I blew it again. Why am I so irritated by him?” I said to myself. “What’s wrong with me?”

There was noise upstairs—loud music—probably some kids partying. I yawned and closed the television. I looked at the white box on the table. I grabbed it unwillingly and opened it with curiosity. The box contained some old photos. There was a younger photo of me—and my old wife and kids. I found a video tape as well, labeled: “Happy times”. I reluctantly played the video. It showed my wife Emily, my eldest son Noe, and Jack as a baby in my arms. I sighed watching the tape. I did miss the old days. That Noe—he must be somewhere between thirty and forty by now. I should not have treated him that way. I closed my eyes, listening to the sweet voices of my children and wife.

It was becoming strangely warm, but I did not care. I heard a ringing noise and screams from above. I opened my eyes as my body felt uncomfortably hot. Fire began to spread around the apartment. It must have come from those lousy kids partying upstairs. I began to sweat, but I did not care; my life was a waste anyway. I could finally rest in peace now. I looked at the television, still playing the video. As I watched my sons as teenagers, bad memories flooded my mind with guilt and self-pity. I had left my loved ones—all for money, booze, women and friends who later abandoned me. I had no one right now; and I threw out the remaining person who truly cared for me. I lived such a worthless life.

Someone pounded the door. “Dad! Open up; it’s me, Noe!”

I was so overjoyed that I could not speak. ”W-what are you still doing here?”

“Are you alright, dad? I’ll get you out of there.”

“Noe, the place will collapse soon. Leave me be.”

“No, I won’t leave you,” he yelled. He smashed the door open and rushed to grab me, but I refused to go. “What’s wrong, dad? Can’t you move?”

“I’m no good, Noe. Please let me die here.”

“What are you saying? We have to leave—now!” He pulled me by the wrist.

“I can’t.” I said, pulling away. “I was never a good father. I failed you, Jack, and Emily. I deserve to burn.”

“That doesn’t matter, dad,” he said boldly and gently, “I love you. We need you.”

“What?” I said in disbelief. I noticed my tears flowing to my chin. “How could you love such a useless—“

He hugged me tightly. His sweat and tears mixed with mine. “The past doesn’t matter anymore, dad. Remember: you’ll always be my dad. Now come on.” He offered me his hand.

I took his hand and walked with him. His strong arms accompanied me down the stairs. The wooden stairs collapsed. He grabbed me as I fell into a fiery pit. Noe sat me down against the hall walls, exhausted and coughing as smoke continued to build. Consuming fire was everywhere. I saw no hope of escape. Noe stood and glanced around, trying to find a window.

“We’re getting out,” he said. “I promise.”

I felt weary. A man of sixty-eight cannot take anymore of this. My eyes became blurry. I last saw something beginning to collapse on us. Noe immediately threw himself on me.

I felt wet. I rubbed my eyes and saw my son covered in muddy dirt, bricks and wood. His head lay on my chest. There was a smile on his face; it was just like the old times when he was a child nestling with me and Emily. “Noe, are you all right?”

The boy did not respond. “Come on, kid,” I said with a weak laugh, “Stop joking around.” I slapped his face softly. My hand brushed through his dark, curly hair—and found blood. “No…” I clasped his head tightly, kissing him. “No, no!”

Some firemen came and took him away from me. “No! What are you doing?” I said, “That’s my son!” They separated us. I yelled and I yelled, but no sound came out. I felt breathing with an oxygen mask. I saw those men sealing Noe like a gift in black wrapper. I cried, “Please…give me another chance…please, let me see him again…please…”

The bright sunlight irritated my eyes. I found myself in a white room surrounded by white roses. Beside me was a man—a man who died saving my life.

“Hey, dad, you’re awake.” Noe smiled. “The nurses said you kept having nasty dreams.”

“But I thought…You’re alive? You’re alive!” I jumped off the bed and clasped my beloved son. “You’re alive! You’re alive!” I laughed gleefully with tears on my face.

“Umm, dad, you’re tickling me…” He said, giggling.

I kissed him a million times. Dream or not, this new life was a blessed miracle. “Thanks for the gift by the way. I loved it. Is it too late for Christmas?”

“Well, I’m sure we can spend a brand New Year with a family reunion.”

“Yes, yes! I’d want to see Emily and Jack…and all my grandchildren, too.”

Noe gave a bright and beautiful smile—a smile I had not seen since our last Christmas party, three decades ago. But now, I may see more smiles in my family’s life, including mine.