When I was a kid we were dirt poor. I'm not going to bore you a "how poor were you story?" Actually, being poor was kind of nice. Not a lot of things to worry about. This incident taught me a lot about life. I didn't realize it at the time but now when I tell the story I see new, valuable lessons that are good for all of us. Here it is: My third grade teacher had a yearly tradition. After I discovered what it was my stomach churned for days. Every Christmas season she would have her class sit in a circle and read "Twas the Night Before Christmas". That's not the end of it. Each student was to bring a gift to school to exchange with one another. On the infamous day, everybody placed their gift in front of them on their desk. The reading began and each time the word "the" was uttered, the gifts were passed to the student on your left. This was actually pretty cool if you had a nice gift to pass around and show off. I didn't and that is why my stomach hurt. I was fortunate that my sister's boyfriend was around and that he felt sorry for me. He didn't have a lot of money either but he was kind enough to buy me a big plastic army jeep to take to class. An army jeep?!?! I was embarrassed and humiliated. This was a baby toy. But at least I had something in my hand to bring to class. I had never wanted a story to start so fast. I just wanted to start passing that plastic representation of my life around so fast that hopefully nobody would know it was mine. The story began and I felt like a ton of bricks were taken off my back once that jeep left my hands. The gifts started making the rounds and a brand new set of pixie sticks caught my eye. I had never had pixie sticks and I really wanted them bad. My eyes dreamily watched them make the rounds. I wanted to run when they touched my hands...but I knew I couldn't. Also making the rounds was one of those 10 cent squirt guns. I was appalled and at the same time felt somewhat vindicated. I didn't have the cheesiest gift after all! This squirt gun was disgusting. Not only was it cheapo but it was used, cracked and it even had some water in it. The water leaked on just about every desk because of the crack. What a mess. The icing on the cake was the chewed plug on the back of the gun. In my mind, I indignantly demanded to know who would dare bring such a thing to our event. The story wore on and the tension was building. Finally the teacher said "The End". Yes, you guessed it, there sat that excuse for a squirt gun in a puddle of water on my desk. I was back to being humiliated. I felt the eyes and the snickers and just wanted to get out of there as soon as I could. But no such luck...the teacher stood and announced that we would now have to stand, one by one, and say thank you to the giver of our gift. I slowly felt myself slipping into a coma. The owner of the squirt gun was a kid named Larry who, ironically, got the jeep that I had brought. He was more than happy to say thank you. Not so for me. I just wanted it to be over. I stood bravely before the class and sheepishly mumbled "Thanks, Larry" to finalize my humiliation. And then it was over. Wouldn't it be nice to only have to worry about saying thank you for a gift that was someone's best?