This Year of the Unicorn

每年圣诞节，我和妹妹起得都特别早。父母会把我们送回床上，再让我们睡会儿。我们两个会挤在我的房间，热切地讨论楼下将会有什么样的礼物在等着我们。

有一年我特别想要一辆自行车。现在我依然清楚记得向妹妹描述我想要的自行车的样子：粉红色的，系着银色的飘带，有一个闪闪发亮的银色车座。最终，当听到父母在楼下的走动声，我们就知道我们差不多可以下楼了。一旦咖啡的香气飘到我们的房间里来，就意味着父母不仅起床了，而且已经用过咖啡，准备好发放礼物了。

这个时候，我们就会飞奔到楼下。我九岁那年，我的妹妹莉莉六岁，我特别渴望得到的圣诞礼物是芭比梦想小屋。我学校的一个女孩有一个这样的小屋。有一天放学后我很幸运地得到她的允许，看了一眼这个小屋。每每放学后，她就像个慷慨施舍的公主一样，用一些聪明的小手段从我们中间选出一个或者两个人，然后安静地坐下来，心满意足地看着我们满脸惊奇地欣赏着那个小屋。几分钟后，她就把小屋收起来，让我们回家。我觉得如果也能够拥有一个这样的梦想小屋，我的人生就完美了。这件礼物比我以前要求的都贵重得多，但是我觉得正因为如此，我反而更有可能实现我的愿望。

一天夜里，我无意中听到父母的谈话，他们以为我和莉莉已经上床睡觉了。“比尔，我们该怎么准备今年的圣诞礼物？”妈妈的声音从厨房里传出来，语气轻柔却充满不安。

“我现在还不知道，梅尔。我们总会想到解决办法的。我们一直都可以，亲爱的，不要担心。”“我知道。我只是禁不住地担心。”妈妈接下来的话被一阵流水声淹没了。她肯定在清洗晚餐的碗碟。我悄悄回到自己的卧室，对刚刚听到的谈话感到一丝忐忑不安。但是，我毕竟还是个孩子，很快就忘了他们的谈话，一心期待心爱的芭比梦想小屋。

父母谈论的那个圣诞节很快就到了。早上的时候，莉莉和我照例挤在我的房间里，等待着我们可以下楼的信号出现。莉莉想要一辆新自行车，她一个劲儿地问我圣诞老人会不会把这个礼物送给她，但是我满脑子想的都是我的梦想小屋。不知道为什么，我总觉得自己能够得到它，因为生活和命运不至于如此残酷，会拒绝我的这个要求。我似乎能看到小屋的塑料墙壁上张贴的漂亮壁纸，与之相配的精美家具，还有设计精巧的手工操作的电梯。我似乎还闻到了小屋散发出来的崭新的塑料的气味。我狠狠吸了一口气，想象着自己向朋友和敌人炫耀这件礼物时的情形。突然，我闻到一股新煮的咖啡的香气。下楼的时间到了！

我的双眼依然闪烁着期待的光芒。我快速走下楼梯，因为太过匆忙几乎将莉莉撞倒。父母都坐在厨房里，小口啜着咖啡。虽然我知道他们希望我会停下来，等着和他们一起走进起居室。但是，我对礼物的渴求太过强烈，以至于一分钟也等不了。我从他们身边穿过，径直走向起居室。我迫不及待地推开起居室的双层门，高兴和感激的话语已经冲到嘴边，结果却发现，那里根本没有梦想小屋。我疯狂地翻着圣诞树下面的盒子，确定它应该就在那里，根本没有注意到我的父母和妹妹已经进了起居室，站在我的身后。父母的脸上挂着紧张的微笑。最终，我不得不承认圣诞树下根本放不下梦想小屋。我抬起头看着父母，脸上充满了悲伤和困惑。

“停一下，亲爱的。圣诞老人还给你送来另外一件不太适合放在圣诞树下的礼物。比尔，赶快过去拿给她看！”

只见爸爸走向一个角落。角落里有张大毯子盖在了一大块东西上，我的希望之光再次被点燃起来。不过，这个大小和形状都不太对。爸爸把毯子拉开，脸上挂着紧张的笑容。下面原来是一个巨大的玩具屋。如果说芭比梦想小屋漂亮时髦，那么这个玩具屋就是丑陋老旧。它有一个尖尖的屋顶和院子，还有看似手工制作的家具；墙上的壁纸似乎跟父母去年秋天挂在莉莉房间里的很像。慢慢地，我弄明白了，这个玩具屋是爸爸自己做的。

回想起来，我现在已经记不清那天后来发生的事，虽然之前的种种至今都是历历在目。我记得当我意识到我的圣诞礼物不能让学校的其他女孩们大吃一惊的时候，我感到极度的无助和悲伤。虽然我明白爸爸为了制作这个玩具屋花费了很多时间和精力，也尽量表现出很感激的样子，但我失望的表情简直一目了然。我心里还是想不明白他为什么送给我这么一个粗糙的仿造品而不是我心心念念的梦想小屋。

长大以后，我真希望可以回到过去，悄悄地告诉年幼的自己应该更加感激爸爸的劳动成果，但是这是不可能实现的。现在我依然保存着这个玩具屋。当我有了自己的孩子，我会给他们讲这个故事，我希望他们能够比我理解得更加深入。

This Year of the Unicorn

It was always the same, every Christmas. My sister and I would wake up early, my parents would send us back to bed, and we would instead huddle in my room, discussing which gifts might be waiting for us downstairs. One year it was a bicycle that I wanted,and I can still remember telling my sister exactly what it would look like: pink, with silver streamers and a sparkly silver seat. Eventually we would hear our parents moving around downstairs and we would know that it was almost time. Once the scent of coffee made it to our rooms, we would hurl ourselves downstairs since that signified that our parents were not only awake but caffeinated and ready for gift-giving.

The year that I was nine, and Lily was six, the gift that I had been craving was the Barbie Dream House. Another girl from my school had one and I had been lucky enough to be allowed a glimpse of it after school one day. She was like a princess bestowing largesse; allowing one or two people over after school most days,demonstrating the various clever mechanisms, then sitting quietly, contentedly, while we gazed in wonder of a few minutes. Then, she sent us on our way. I knew that if I could only have a Dream House of my own, my life would be complete. It was a bigger gift

than I usually requested but, logically, I felt, that meant I was all the more likely to have

my wish granted.

One night I overheard my parents, after they thought Lily and I had gone to bed.“Bill, what are we going to do about Christmas this year?”My mother’s voice,quiet and unsettlingly uncertain, came from the kitchen.

“I don’t know yet, Mel, but we’ll figure something out. We always do, honey. ”“I know, I just can’t help but worry. ”Whatever my mother said next was drowned out by the running water—she must have been washing up after dinner. I crept back to my bedroom, a little bit troubled by what I had heard but, as is the way of children, soon forgot and went back to Barbie Dream House dreaming.

On the Christmas morning in question, Lily and I huddle in my room, waiting for the signal to appear. She wanted a new bike and kept asking me if Santa would get it for her, but all I could think about was my Dream House. Somehow, I had convinced myself that I was certain to get it, that life and the fates could not possibly be cruel enough to deny me this. I could see the wallpaper that was printed on the plastic walls,the darling matching furniture, and the ingenious hand-operated elevator. It would smell like new plastic. I inhaled deeply, imagining myself showing my gift off to friends and foes alike. Instead of new plastic, however, my nostrils quivered to the odor of freshly brewed coffee. It was time.

My eyes still full of the glories I expected, I barreled down the stairs, almost knocking Lily down in my haste. Both of my parents were standing in the kitchen,sipping coffee. I tore past them, even though I knew that they would expect me to stop and wait for them to walk into the living room with me. My longing was simply too exquisite to wait any longer. I burst through the double doors into our living room,words of joy and gratitude ready on my lips, only to find—there was no Dream House.

Frantically, I began to paw through the boxes under the tree, certain that it had to be there, somewhere, blind to movement of my parents and sister entering the room behind me, nervous smiles on both my parents’ faces. Eventually I was forced to concede that the tree was not somehow harboring a Dream House under its limbs. I looked up at my parents, grief and confusion painted large on my features.

“Hold up a minute, honey. Santa brought you one more gift that wouldn’t quite fit under the tree. Bill, go ahead—show her. ”

As I watched my father head towards a corner where a large blanket was draped over some bulky object, hope flickered back to life a bit. But the size was all wrong,as was the shape. Still smiling anxiously, my father pulled the blanket away from what appeared to be a huge dollhouse. If Barbie’s Dream House was sleek and modern, this was awkward and old-fashioned. It had a peaked roof and a patio, with what looked like handmade furniture and wallpaper that looked suspiciously like the paper my parents had hung in Lily’s room last fall. Slowly, realization dawned—my father had made it for me.

Looking back, I can only recall the rest of that day hazily, even though the events up until that moment are as clear today as they were at the time. I remember the feeling of devastation that I felt, as I realized that the other girls from school would not, in fact,be blown away by my Christmas gift. I tried to be as grateful as I could, understanding even then that my father had probably spent countless hours working on the house,but my disappointment was only too evident. I just couldn’t understand why they had given me this crude approximation instead of my heart’s desire. As an adult, I wish I could go back in time, whisper the reason to my younger self, try to be more appreciative of my father’s efforts, but that is not the way of the world. I still have the house, though, and when I have children of my own. I will tell them the whole story,

and I hope they will understand better than I did.