This year’s Christmas presents hide right behind the closet door. Several boxes are on shelves while other packages are lamely stuffed in a festive Ted Baker bag on the floor. If you walked in the closet, you would see the presents with zero effort.

Ten years ago, my children would’ve paid cash money to know the essential information of the present hiding location. There were multiple confirmed incidents of aggressive present searching which resulted in a commensurate escalation of present hiding protocol. As evidenced by my total lack of present hiding creativity, we are past those years and I find myself disappointed.

The high water mark for present hiding was when I was seven. Under duress over breakfast in early December, we finally broke my father. “The presents aren’t in the house because you’d find them, so I’ve dug a hole, a holiday hole, somewhere on the property. All of your presents are in that hole.”

Our concern was palpable. “What if it rained?” we asked. “There’s a pretty good tarp covering the hole,” he responded. “PRETTY GOOD? Dad, these are our presents. WE CAN’T HAVE DAMP PRESENTS.” “I’m sure they’re fine… I bet they’re fine,” he concluded.

Just under 10 acres of land represents significant hole potential and I’m not proud to say that I searched those 10 acres multiple times over the next two Christmas season prompted by increasingly tempting clues from my father, “Did you check the redwood tree that has three tops?” WHAT? Where’s the redwood with three tops?

10 acres. Two years. At least it got me out of the house.

This morning the Lopp Family was discussing present hiding protocol and I told them the story of the holiday hole. They were delighted and it began a long discussion of prior searches for presents. My children believe they know all my spots, but I can safely confirm they do not.

This morning was a good reminder that while we love the presents, what we truly love is the stories we bring and share in this holiday season.

Happy merry.