Once upon a time, there was a boy who was getting nothing for Christmas. He and his brother, who was also getting nothing, knew this because their mother had told them.

“I am so sorry,” she said. “I can’t afford to buy either of you a present for Christmas.”

The boys were sad but not surprised. Their mother worked long hours as a waitress, and what she earned barely covered food, gas for her ancient car, and rent on their two-room house. The house was so small that the three of them slept in one double bed. The kitchen had a fridge, a gas stove, and a table barely big enough for them. The bathroom had a flush toilet, but no tub or shower.

The boys were not expecting anything for Christmas, but their hopes suddenly rose. The older brother said, “There’s a box in the closet that wasn’t there before. I wonder what’s in it.” Their mother was at work each day and the boys were often alone, which provided plenty of opportunities to inspect the box. It was made of sturdy cardboard. It was heavy. It was taped firmly closed, denying any attempts to pry.

It drove us – I mean them – a little crazy. Could it be, despite what their mother had said, a Christmas present?

Overcome by curiosity, the younger boy (okay, me) had a plan. Any fiddling with the top would be obvious, but perhaps with the bottom, it would be less so. When his mother and brother were gone, he carried the box out of the closet and carefully turned it upside down. It took all his strength. The bottom, like the top, was well-taped.

Not to be denied, the boy, a first-grader, cut a bit of the tape and tried to peek inside. He unplugged the bedside lamp (there was no overhead light) and plugged it into the room’s only other outlet. He didn’t want his mother to discover the investigation, so he kept the opening small.

Holding the lamp and peering in as best he could, he was shocked to see the box contained a giant book. He had never seen a book so big. He saw the edge of its hard cover and the pages disappearing out of sight beyond the feeble light of the lamp. He rubbed a little dirt on the torn tape making it look like it had been damaged by friction with the floor, then turned the box right-side up and returned it to the closet.

Christmas morning, the boys discovered that it was a present – for them both. And it wasn’t a single, giant book, it was a seven-volume set of Grolier’s Lands and Peoples. Never in my life, as a child or as an adult, have I received a Christmas present more unexpected and wonderful than that.

I spent hundreds of hours studying pictures and absorbing what my limited reading ability would allow. It never occurred to me until years and years later that mom must have made monthly payments on that set for heaven knows how long.