Christmas

In this era of rampant gift-giving, it is the ghosts of Christmas presents past that often put the ho-ho-ho into holiday.

Consider the woman, then 16 years old and skinny, who received a size 40-D bra from her Granny. If she had followed that glib notion that “when life gives you lemons, make lemonade,” she could have hung it on the wall by its straps and used it to store oranges and apples for treating Christmas guests. Granny had been through the Great Depression. Well, truthfully, she hadn’t ever quite fully gotten through it and she was an inveterate bargain shopper who couldn’t pass up the scaled-down price tag on the super-sized undie.

In her philosophy, it was the thought that counted, not the size, as she spread joy and cheer for the holidays. The girl could grow into it. (She never did.) Granny’s family members were used to receiving unusual items from the thrift shops and bargain bins. It became a game to see what came next and no one was surprised when, one year, what came next was what had been gifted to Granny the year before. In the end, 364 days of loving interactions couldn’t be swamped by one day of off-the-wall Yule gifts. Besides, the insanity of Granny’s unusual gift-giving was cancelled out when the frenzy of opening presents was over and Grandpa whipped out the envelopes with crisp new $50 bills inside. Life tends to balance out somehow.

Actually, the idea of re-gifting makes some sense. If you have items you’ve received that have no use but to gather dust on a shelf, why not? The trick is to remember from whence the gift came and avoid shuffling it back to the original purchaser. Like the friend who sent a special card to her father one Christmas only to receive it back with his signature the next year. That can cause consternation. And if the gift you got was really so horrible that you don’t want it in your house, what makes you think anyone you know would like it in theirs? Reminds me of the sisters who for years passed a fruitcake (long since hardened to concrete status) back and forth. Disguising the disgusting bit of undigestible comestible so it would come as a surprise on Christmas morning became a challenge. If the thing had not finally disintegrated, it probably would still be making the round trip every other year dressed in every imaginable disguise.

Speaking of lingerie, it seems to be a favorite inappropriate choice with some gents who are gift-giving impaired. A faux zebra-skin teddy for a body that has more wrinkles than the Grand Canyon? Or the hot pink number with a juvenile print that sports matching pink slippers for the wife who is expecting in January? Help! On the other hand, such dainties would look pretty good to my daughter who once received a crankshaft for her ailing car on Christmas day. Or the woman who got a new barbecue because her husband wanted a barbecue. It’s one of the fatal mistakes of giving presents—buying something you are sure the recipient will like because it’s just what YOU always wanted. It can seem so right.

Some men, unfortunately, don’t get the picture when it comes to gifting. What’s a woman to do when she plants her list in big letters on the refrigerator, repeated on the car dash and in the bathroom and the message never penetrates? No wonder there are those like the one I once served when I was working in a large store wrapping packages for Yule shoppers. She had a large pile of things waiting for dressing in cheery holiday paper and—she requested—lots of bows. Making what I hoped was genial conversation, I asked if she had a big family to shop for at Christmas. “Oh, no,” she assured me. “These are all for me. Now I know I’ll get what I want.” Served her purpose, I guess, but felt a little lacking in the expected joyful spirit of giving—and receiving— that the season ideally generates.

Kids are great gift-givers. When mine were small, they never had much money to spread among those on their lists and that led to some strange packages on Christmas morning. Such as the empty thread spools—individually wrapped, of course—that showed up under the tree one year. Or the toilet brush. Now that was a gift with feeling. Using it all year round brought warm memories of that Christmas Past. Of course, there was the year I got little pieces of Christmas wrap wrapped in Christmas wrap. Really tight budget that year. Then there was the year I got a very nice —very cheap—little statuette of the Virgin Mary, although my religious sensibilities don’t lie in that direction. I had seen it on sale in our local all-purpose shopping emporium at $1.49 and knew that was a real sacrifice for my little Brian. For many years, the statue was part of our Christmas decor until in some move around the country the cheap plaster disintegrated from the stress. I missed it when it was gone.

A poet once said it best: “The gift without the giver is bare.” Gift it or regift it, but give it from the heart.