“Well – has Felix opened his present yet?”
My mother grinned expectantly, and I realised Felix was at the epicentre of a Christmas Day maelstrøm, with satellites of all heights and ages flying around him at varying velocities and trajectories.
Chief amongst the satellites was a small blonde five-year-old who was clearly on Planet Christmas.
Big Al – my nephew – was highly excited. His voice was high, his grin beatific and his one aim was to get the paper off every package in my sister’s house. And that was an achievement because, what with the extended family descending on the household, the place was awash with presents. Small, tight circles seemed to be the order of the day for Al. Hurricane was his middle name.
So the suggestion that Felix open a present was most agreeable to my nephew. He approved mightily, and he leapt about a bit to show his endorsement.
And then, he set eyes on the shape of the package.
It was cylindrical. It was almost as big as Al himself. My nephew’s eyes gleamed: it was the Excalibur of cardboard boxes.
But it belonged to Felix. This was a promising development for Al, as most things that belong to Felix end up, eventually, belonging to Al. Meanwhile, he did the dance of hope. Hop to the left, hop to the right, jump in a circle, urge your cousin loudly to get the paper off as fast as humanly possible.
Felix took off the paper, and opened the end of the great tube. Inside: Excalibur itself. Or, to be specific, an English Heritage 1066 wooden sword.
Everyone’s eyes widened, even the grown-ups. This was truly a prince amongst swords. A great wooden broadsword to be wielded by a young warrior in combat with – well – other lesser wooden swords.
The sword was taken up and wielded, and everyone ooh-ed and aah-ed. But one small gimlet-eyed figure was advancing upon the cylinder with firm intent.
Two minutes later, Al had pottered off to fetch one of his own swords; a rather natty blue sponge-foam number. The observant might watch the littlest warrior utterly preoccupied, posting the blue sword in and out of the EH sword-box with much the same glee that Eeyore had once exhibited, with a balloon and a honey jar.
Everyone sat down to Christmas Dinner, and ate their fill, and crackers were pulled, and pudding partaken of, until no-one could eat another thing.
And the box was still doing stalwart service. Now, though, the sword was nowhere to be seen. Instead, a small minion – one of those naughty yellow helpers from the feature film Despicable Me – was about to become a minionesque cannonball. There he was, stuffed into the business end of the cylinder, waiting with a measure of uncertainty for something to happen.
And at that point, it was time to leave, and go home to sleep off an enormous, most excellent Christmas dinner.
And I have still, two days later, not learnt what became of the box.
Kate Shrewsday 
The broadsword seems to be a thing of great wonder.
I think most givers of gifts to small children suffer the bewildered disappointment of finding that one of the containers turned out to be the star toy of the day.
They do, Col. It is an integral part of Christmas.
Imagine the wailings, though, if nothing but containers were to be donated!
Children and young pets both prefer boxes to actual presents. Perhaps just buying boxes would save a lot of money!
It’s the true meaning of Christmas, Kate: cardboard 😀
Sometimes the boxes are more entertaining than the gift. So much imagination goes into their potential. Sounds like a wonderful Christmas for all.
It was, Judy: hope you had a great Christmas too.
So glad to hear you had a Big Al Christmas! He enlivens all our lives Kate. 🙂
He does, Wanderlust. Life is never dull with Al around.
I’ve missed Big Al while I’ve been mostly off-line the past few months. Love your descriptions. I can just him.
Sounds like a happy Christmas, Kate. Best wishes for 2014.
Jamie
You too, Jamie 🙂
I was so happy to see you had offered a Big Al update! Delightful, as always. Wherever could that box be? I’m sure when found you’ll be quite amazed at his secret stashing place. 🙂
Probably, Debra.Knowing Al, it will be ingenious.
Perfect Christmas day then?.. c
Pretty much 🙂
Love the new place!
Lovely through and through, Kate.
🙂 It was a cool day, Nancy.
You are an excellent writer ( I know, I am repeating myself ) love this story!
Thanks, Solveig. Al kind of writes himself!
sounds like a delightful time was had by all. Kids and boxes go together with great imagination!
They do, Joss. A wonderful day was had by all under 13!
Big Al has the most excellent imagination. 🙂
He does. And a wicked sense of humour, Andra. I hope you meet him one day.
I very much hope so, too.
Lucky Felix, and sweet dear Al! Happy New Year Kate 🙂
And to you, Tandy. Thanks for that amazing recipe. It charmed everyone at the dinner table here!
Boxes are always of great value in our home. They are forts and targets for bows and arrows and hideouts and organizing bins and sleds (except that we’re lacking snow).
A dearly beloved but temporarily patched husband, behaving a bit like Big Al himself, had much fun with a Christmas box this year, too. Oddly enough, I can’t find it. Hmmm?
One year, I wrapped my nephew’s gift in bubble wrap, which was, it seemed, much more appreciated than the actual gift.
Love hearing about Big Al’s adventures, Kate. It sounds like your Christmas was merry.
So many boxes at our Christmas shenanigans! Thank goodness for re-cycle. 🙂
I can just hear those minion sound effects at every wild swipe. 🙂
Merry Christmas, Kate.
Banana, Rigatoni, Meatball -)
Oh, Al! I can absolutely picture him hopping around the box in anticipation of Felix not needing it any longer. Brilliant.