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GOAT GIFTS
I’ll Be Armed For Christmas
I’m dreaming of a weaponized childhood
We the children of my big family are children of the blade.
Every kid’s packing sharp steel at all times because you never know when you’ll need to free meat from its seamless animal packaging or cut tennis shoes off your feet to save time.
During Christmases, birthdays, anniversaries, and baby showers, there was always some unarmed soul struggling to open their gift, trying and failing until we the children heard it: the good word…
Oh, sweet sound.
The calling (call of the wild, my wild):
“Knife!”
And the fish-quick hands of fifteen to twenty tiny Tims dove into their pockets for blades, then the Tims ran like Olympic torch bearers toward the civilian and their un-unwrappable gift.
Don’t worry.
Yes, the blades were out and we the children were running, but we knew how to trip, fall, and roll safely with blades. It was boring to us how safe it was to fall with open knives. Give us a challenge.
We were so good at packing knives that when we accidentally failed to pack, we felt so much shame it took us a decade to forget again.