The Gift of Ignorance
Tony Budenz
The eyelids he had basically tried to prop open (and even prayed to God they wouldn’t close) had, at last, shut some time after midnight. 12:07 was the last time he remembered seeing glowing as red numbers on the clock next to his bed. Maybe, just maybe, if he stayed up all night he could catch a glimpse of Santa Claus. In all the years of believing in him, he’d never pulled it off. Christmas morning crossed over the threshold in the dark of Christmas Eve in such a stealthy manner, that he hadn’t realized it had happened until his eyes were wide open and the realization set in.
It had now been years since he believed in Santa Claus, but it still remained his favorite morning. He still tried to will himself awake each hour until he, again, woke up excited to see what was in his stockings and what presents were there from his parents. To be honest, as a teenage boy, he knew about and believed in the birth of Jesus, but presents were still pretty much in the top spot of his mind. Jesus was tied with first place. Ok, maybe a really close second.
On this particular year, as he rounded the corner from the stairway, he stopped in his tracks. Looming larger than life, was a stereo. A real life stereo – the rack-mount kind from the late 80’s with several components: A vinyl player on top and inside, a dual cassette player, a radio tuner, an equalizer and two wired speakers. The speakers looked as large as what he imagined speakers at a concert might look like. How good was the Beastie Boys’ Licensed to Ill going to sound on this if he already thought it sounded great on the little boombox in his bedroom? As he pushed on the glass door, the magnet clicked and released and he brushed his fingers over the volume knob and over the EQ’s plastic sliders. He was in heaven!
As Christmas morning continued with his sisters and parents talking about their gifts, unwrapping the presents under the tree from other family members, and getting ready for church, all he could think about was coming home to plug this stereo in. At Mass, as they sang every verse of Christmas-themed songs, his mind wandered back to that stereo.
Finally, they were home and he was untucking his dress shirt and carrying the components to his room, still in his Sunday clothes. The polyester didn’t breathe much, but he didn’t care. He was on a mission and, after no time at all, the stereo was in place in his small bedroom. The pressing of the power button lit the whole thing up like, well, Christmas. Chills and a smile appeared at the same time. He pushed the button to load in a cassette and the little door slowly opened smooth as butter. Dropping the cassette in and pushing the door closed until he heard the CLICK. Licensed to Ill. Side 2. Rewind all of the way. Push play. And then it happened…
…the guys, loud and clear (emphasis on LOUD) said, in unison, “No sleep til” and then a huge guitar riff filled the room. If this wasn’t the magic of Christmas mentioned in every Christmas song, he didn’t know what was. How was Guns ‘n Roses going to sound? Pink Floyd? NWA? Jane’s Addiction? Life was changing.
Life was changing indeed. Swept up in the moment and the music, he didn’t realize at the time what was happening. There were no Matchbox cars, green army guys, Silly Putty or coloring books in his stack of presents. The presence of such an “adult” gift came at the expense of crossing over from “kids” gifts. In the imaginary world of Matchbox cars and army men, he ruled the world and controlled the outcome. When he crossed over into this world of being a stereo owner, he used music as a reaction to life happening around him. And, at first, it might be fun and rebellious, like Fight for Your Right to Party by the Beastie Boys but, before he knew it, he’s sitting in sadness listening to Peter Cetera and Amy Grant singing “Next Time I Fall” or Whitney Houston’s smooth voice on “Didn’t We Almost Have It All” and he’s just not equipped to deal with these emotions of teenage love. The songs become stepping stones on a path that’s about to merge into true adulthood in a few years. And when that time comes, some of his Christmas presents are going to be (*gasp*): CLOTHES.
But here’s the gift within the gift: When he woke up excited, turned that corner, and laid eyes on the prize that was that stereo, he was ignorant of what it represented and what would come later in life. He was allowed to experience that moment and continue in a state of bliss that can only truly happen when one is unaware of future outcomes or past pieces of comparison. They say two of the only guarantees in life are death and taxes, but I say there’s one more: Everyone is guaranteed to want more time as a kid.
Life moves forward faster than you’re able to perceive it. It happens in such a stealthy manner, that you don’t have time to realize it until your eyes are wide open and the realization sets in. And in that moment of wanting and reflection, if you were lucky enough to be blissfully ignorant, you can practice being grateful for that gift. I know with 100% certainty that kid with the stereo does that to this day, especially while listening to music. He’s doing it now as he writes this.
Next month we return with a month of poetry. Check back to see what we are up to.
