Last year, my husband and I decided to play a little trick on our children. Like nearly every other child in America, our kids desperately wanted Razor-type scooters for Christmas. It was all we heard about from Halloween on. We lucked into a deal and had the much-wanted gifts tucked away long before the holiday, but our two children, 11-year-old Meghan and eight-year-old Max, were in a near panic, believing we might wait too long and they might be sold out.
We teased them endlessly about this. One afternoon, the kids were at my husband's cabinet shop nagging about the scooters when my son noticed a set of old in-line skates my husband had bought at a yard sale. He had been planning to use the wheels to make a cart to move cabinets, but when Max asked what the skates were for, he had an inspiration: he told the children that since scooters were so expensive, he had decided to make them himself. The kids' eyes got huge with nervousness. Was he serious? They ran to ask me and, forewarned by my husband, I told them, confidentially, that Daddy was really excited about the project. They couldn't imagine what kind of contraption their father was going to make out of wood and skate wheels. I suspected they were also picturing their friends' faces when they rode to school the day after vacation on their homemade gifts.
For weeks, we carried on the joke. Every once in a while, one of the children would casually ask, "So how's Dad doing with the scooters?" and if their father wasn't in the room, I would look nervous and not answer.
Of course, my husband (with my nephew's help) actually built a scooter, a rickety, wooden nightmare--basically a 2 by 4 with wheels and a crooked handle. He even attached a wooden flame to the back. When it was finished, my husband set a video camera on a shelf in the shop, aimed it at the scooter, and sent the kids over to the shop to get some gifts he had hidden for me. The camera first caught my daughter, carefully approaching the scooter, afraid to look. She glances, once, twice, and then can't bring herself to look again. Then Max comes flying into the picture, stopping dead in his tracks when he sees the monstrosity. His little shoulders slump, and you can hear him whisper, "Oh, no!"
On Christmas morning, we covered the real scooters with a sheet and set up the video camera again. The children rushed into the room, heading straight for their stockings. Neither of them was in any hurry to see what was under the sheet. We urged them to go and see, and they nudged each other. "You do it." "No, you do it!"
Finally, Max walked up and, taking a deep breath, pulled off the sheet. The shock, relief, and joy on their faces were priceless! I am sure some day our kids will be telling our grandkids about the year of The Big Scooter Switch. I know it's a memory I will cherish.
--Kym Castle, Clarkston, Washington
