(This one’s dedicated to Alison Curtis, who reminded me earlier this month that even adults can experience the magic of Christmas with child-like wonder...if we just try.)
What a year it’s been, no? Who would’ve thought back in February we’d be celebrating this kind of December? So much makes this year different than Christmases past. Yet most of us will still observe some of our annual customs. Like exchanging presents. Most folks find that one of the best parts of the season. But can I be honest? All this gift-giving makes me a little bit crazy. It has for a long time, and I’m just now coming to understand why.
Thinking back to Christmases of my childhood, they were pretty great. In kidspeak, that means there was never a shortage of food or family. Or presents. I remember fun little surprises like charm bracelets and dolls and perfume-mixing (chemistry) sets. And big fat awesome gifts like a pair of snow skis, along with goggles and mittens and long johns, of course. I remember loving them all.
Christmases in my young adulthood might be where my disenchantment with gifting started. For one thing, I was a newlywed living states away from family and friends before the days of Zoom and FaceTime. Everything was unfamiliar, including holiday services at our new church. Gifts seemed secondary to my holiday loneliness. Money was tight, and that was no fun either. If you sprinkle in some starry-eyed idealism, you might see a woman who has struggled for years to balance the season’s mix of faith and over-the-top falala-ing.
I remember the Christmas after Rice and I bought our first house. We over-extended on that purchase. (Doesn’t everyone? At least those of us lucky enough to buy a house?) When I say we lived paycheck to paycheck, that’s a literal statement. We weren’t starving, and we still had heat and hot water. But make no mistake. We were squeaking back then.
We mailed gifts to out-of-state family that year—the postage probably cost more than the presents—but we decided to forego exchanging gifts between the two of us on the 25th. We agreed to treat each other to a little something, but it would be when we shopped the after-Christmas sales together. When I told a co-worker our plan, she was mortified. “Are you that bad off?” she asked. She saw us as destitute. I saw us as practical.
Flash forward to a few years later. Our household now included a baby girl. (Other miracles were yet to come, like cell phones and cybershopping...and two more babies.) That first Christmas as a mom was enlightening. It was the year young women got into bitch-slap fests to claim the last Cabbage Patch doll on the shelf. Talk about the spirit of the season. And I was only just getting a taste of the jolliness.
Like it or not, our society celebrates the season with gifts. Sure, I could’ve made a stand by saying let’s not do things that way. But I didn’t—in no small part because I’m married to a man, God love him, who liked to see his children’s eyes sparkle come Christmas morning.
As the Rice brood grew, we parents started to shop the Black Friday butt-crack-of-dawn sales. We’d split up, visiting different stores to better our odds of scoring the year’s wish-list items. Standing in those lines got pretty boring. Eavesdropping on other parents provided a way to pass the time. One family was buying their kid a TV...for starters. Another confessed they weren’t sure how they’d pay their credit card bills in January. But by God, their kids were going to have plenty of Santa gifts come December 25th.
Did I like hearing all this? No. It didn’t seem practical. Nor did it make me want to run up our credit card bills, just to play a game of one-upping the neighbors. It did, however, cause me to re-visit my struggle with the over-the-top nature of the season. These parents obviously loved their children. They enjoyed showing that love through gift-giving. That didn’t mean they weren’t going to celebrate the Baby Jesus, too. (Whether they did or not wasn’t really my business, of course. The point is, my take on gifting at Christmas started to shift.)
Which leads me to....
Realization #1: Faith and commercialism are separate issues. They can co-exist.
Gaining that insight brought some peace. But gift-giving still caused me heartburn. Why?
Another insight flashed over me, and it’s not one I’m proud to admit. What if I was a scrooge-of-a-gift-giver not because I chafed at the commercialism it represented? What if I was so scrooge-like because I really suck when it comes to gifting?
Oh, my gosh, that’s it, isn't it? I mean, here are some gifts I’ve distributed through the years:
Loaves of homemade orange bread to be reheated Christmas morning, again for friends. Well and good. And yummy. Except I gifted each loaf in a tin that was too tiny for the recipe. One friend admitted the sugary icing dripped out of the pan during baking and caught her oven on fire.
A hand-crafted coupon book for my husband, who isn’t a big fan, but who was—and still is—too kindhearted to remind me I got him that same gift a year earlier.
A Raggedy Ann for our middle child. I’d always wanted one for myself. Wouldn’t she just love it? No. She found it creepy.
A bottle of champagne for an adult sitter. I would’ve liked that. She, I soon learned, probably didn’t. She was a Latter Day Saint.
Cringe-worthy watercolor-illustrated poems...written and painted by moi.
Hand-crafted papier-mache angels for family, friends, and neighbors. I worked on those babies for hours, with love and care. They were filled with the spirit of the season. Looking back now, they resembled ghostly gargoyles. God love my friends, some even displayed those ugly angels for more than one season.
I could go on, but I won’t. The pattern’s clear. I like to give gifts that are simple. Often homemade. Those kinds of gifts have meaning. For me. Here’s a funny thing about gifts, though. They’re meant to be enjoyed by those who receive them. It’s well and good if the gifter gets joy from them, too. But that’s secondary. So.... Realization #2: I suck at gift-giving. I continue to struggle with it, shopping for family and friends, party hosts and neighbors, book-club buddies and office mates. Please note: I LIKE the actual giving. It’s figuring out WHAT to give that’s difficult. The good news for me? This season has bought a bit of respite from over-the-top gifting. But it’s come with a price. My heart feels extra heavy for those suffering from illness, loss, or despair. My thoughts go out to those less directly scathed by 2020 but who still feel its weight, foregoing cherished traditions like travel, decorating, and family gatherings. And I send special hugs to grandparents missing their grands this season. Christmas without little ones nearby can be tough. We count on them to help us see the magic on the mantel, to point out a robust Santa, hohoho-ing, his sleigh overloaded with toys. Children see a sweet Baby Jesus, plump and cozy, lying in a manger filled with golden hay. And Mother Mary, clean and white, gazing down at the Christ child with awe and hope. Without help from eyes of innocence, those same images can look very different. Santa appears pretty damned tired, and his sleigh’s not full enough to do right by every child with a Christmas wish. Baby Jesus still lies nearby, but he’s restless on prickly hay that smells of animal dung. The Madonna gazing down at him is more likely filled with fright and exhaustion than hope. She’s around thirteen years old with brown skin. She’s probably dirty and hungry. Our adult eyes see realities we never could (or should) have imagined as a child. Realities like racism. Poverty. Hunger. Social injustice. Yes, we adults need to see all those things. We can never eradicate them if we don’t recognize them. So yes, we need to focus on them, to talk about them. But not every moment of every day.
Maybe it boils down to this....
Realization #3: Giving and receiving gifts is not a top love language of mine. At least not the tangible kind of gifts.
But lest you fear I’ve forgotten, I do have a Christmas gift for you. Knowing my history of gifting, you may be relieved it is intangible and brief, actually more like a three-pronged wish. It goes like this:
May you be spared of cringe-worthy gifts.
May you feel loved and healthy and safe.
Most of all, may you experience the magic of child-like wonder.
At least for a moment, may you find a way to celebrate the awe that is Christmas. Cheers – Jan
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