Devonne Brown

I began drafting the next “Code” last night. Of all the Christmas traditions floating around, my favorite is the Christmas code. My boys tolerate it, everyone else finds it mildly entertaining, and it brings a huge grin to my face every Christmas celebration. I don’t put name tags on packages, I have a secret code for them. The recipients, Ian and Nick, have to decipher the code to figure out who belongs to which gift. Everybody’s family should have something stupid going on for Christmas.  

I write the code in a dumb verse. The dumber the better. I choose something out of the boys’ lives to connect it to, then I write the verse. I write it so that they have to do a little bit of skewed thinking, do a touch of logic, and add the process of elimination.  I’ve subjected the boys to this nonsense since they were old enough to get a present. 

For example, the wrapping paper is of assorted colors and there are a dozen presents under the tree. Marlee, Nick, and Ian are the recipients of the gifts, and their ribbon colors determine who gets which one. The ribbons are red, blue, and green. The card in the envelope marked “Code” is stuck on the tree somewhere obvious. They have to remember to look for the code, then find it. The card one year read, “If Nick flies in from Canada, and Ian works in films. Where does Marlee got to school?” From that information they knew that the ribbon colors were their school colors. Marlee, got green, Nick got red, Ian ended up with blue. 

That Christmas was an exception to the code. We had three instead of two participants. The boys always had a fifty-fifty chance of getting it right without the code. It was fun to have to listen to their instructions to Marlee.

“Mom makes up this stupid code. We have to read it and figure out who gets which presents. Santa doesn’t use name tags here,” said Nick.

 “She’s got them marked in some way we don’t know about,” said Ian. He was usually the one to find, read, and figure out the code before I could blink. He didn’t give Nick a chance. And then  he tossed the code over his shoulder. “Puh.” 

It’s harder for me to keep coming up with these dumb little brain teasers than it is for them to figure them out. I get a kick out of it. The boys roll their eyes. Why does it make me cackle with delight? 

It’s almost November, not even Halloween, and I’m worried about it. This year, I want more style than substance, much more. I want to wax long and hard about two colors and how they identify packages, so I have to put some thought into it. The guys are sharp.