His father gave me a box, and said This box contains every gift you will ever receive. If you open it, you will get them all at once. If you don't, you will get your gifts one at a time over the rest of your life. I shouldn't open it, if I were you. And then he left me alone with it. It was a box of bent and dinged cardboard, the tape peeling up at the corners. I walked around it. The top was about level with the couch cushions, and with my knees. It was square.

Once I had made a circle around it, I poked it. It didn't move. I picked it up, and it was heavy. It felt like things inside shifted as I lifted, and I had trouble with my balance, so I put it back down. I pushed on the top and it bent in, just like any cardboard box.

Finally, I leveraged it up onto the couch and shook it. At first I had no idea what the shook-shook sounds were, but then I heard Legos. Then it was no contest.

I still wonder how it would have felt, having surprises in store.