Topic 35: Rivalry in Gift-Giving

Carol:

The Gift Game

Gift-giving in our family is, well, haphazard. Special occasions are sometimes forgotten, or remembered a day or week later, or even ignored. So,presents are never expected, rather a happy surprise. Rivalry?  Not so much about expensive or elaborate, more about funny or creative.

Not quite what I was hoping for...

Most of the presents I remember are those I really wanted or really hated. When I was about ten, my mother hid one of my presents, a life-size paper doll. By the time she finally found it in the back of the garage, I was too old to play with paper dolls. Hated it then, would have loved it the year before.  Several years later, I really hated the red petticoat I got for Christmas. It was actually quite beautiful with layers of ruffles and ribbon trim, hated mostly because the box it came in   was exactly the size of an autoharp. That’s what I really wanted for Christmas. I must have told that story to my husband because years later he gave me an autoharp for Christmas, in between the year he gave me the egg poacher and the year he gave me the pancake griddle.

I also remember the gag gifts, about which there WAS rivalry. One year my brother gave me a Christmas present that caught my attention because of its unusual shape—I was the one who always shook and squeezed the wrapped gifts for clues to their contents--two balls enveloped in paper with a card attached, “A Gift to match your personality.” Lemons inside,  two lemons. I wasn’t mad. I was triumphant. I had wrapped a single unshelled peanut inside a huge box, a reference to the size of my brother’s brain.

 We probably got the idea from our Dad, who exchanged gag gifts with a friend for over 40 years. One was an electric hammer (a regular hammer with an extension cord attached to the end); another, a “40-foot yacht” (a small plastic toy boat with 40 tiny  plastic feet glued to the bottom); one Dad made himself, a  stripped tree branch with a shotgun cartridge glued to it. Get it? A cartridge in a bare tree. The cornier the gag, the better.

Gift-giving has changed over the years along with the marriages, children and grandchildren.  Our family-within-a-family continues the rivalry with funny cards or gag messages left on voice mail, but the Hammond humor tends to the dark side rather than the cornball. It must be in the genes because I’m the only Hammond that doesn’t laugh; Pollyanna doesn’t do dark.

Several years ago Marc and I started a rule on gift-giving: hand-made, used, or thrift-store only.  I’m not sure my kids really believed me when I said that home-made was the best of all. But, walk around my house and you will see the evidence of that in the framed pictures, displays of mugs and bowls, and the holiday decorations that are the beloved handwork of family and friends.

Today is my husband’s birthday. His gifts? A book by one of his favorite authors from Megan (the best part of that being that she knows his favorite authors) and, from his wife, a beautifully set table to showcase the homemade breakfast made by his daughter. Anything else he gets will be—never expected, always a happy surprise.
 

Happy Birthday Dad!

                            

Megan:

"The greater part of human pain is unnecessary. It is self-created…"

-- Eckhart Tolle

This is an appropriate topic for today because it is my father’s birthday. I don’t think it was planned because my mom drew the little scrap of paper out of the basket, and she doesn’t throw topics back again if she doesn’t like them like I sometimes do – which is a really bad idea, because that means I’ll spend the last few months of this project writing on really difficult subjects and I have a hard enough time coming up with something to say about things that interest me.

Anyway.

It’s Dad’s birthday, and if there were a rivalry surrounding what gifts he got, I think I would totally win, if only because I’m pretty sure I’m the only one who got him a gift at all. I know mom has been sick in bed for most of the week, but it’s not like she didn’t know this day was coming… maybe she should have prepared a little, hmm?

Not that I should win any awards – I got him a book that is made up of excerpts of another book he has read – a book I do not care for because I think the author is creepy. I can’t really explain why – I’ve never read any of the books and I know nothing about the man. But his books are filed under "New Age" at Barnes and Noble, next to a bunch of manuals on what to expect in 2012 and David Icke books (neither of which are actual strikes against it – I would read both). Maybe it’s because Dad’s been encouraging me to read the books and, same as when he encourages me to exercise, I react defensively with an irrational, violent rage none of us has had to endure since I was 15 years old.

But I thought, I do love my dad and it is his birthday, and he will probably like this book.  So I picked it up and turned around and immediately made eye contact with a passing shopper. He was attractive (John Lennon glasses, beanie, unshaven and scruffy) and his eyes drifted down to check out the book I was carrying and I screamed. In my head. “NO!” I thought, “Don’t judge me on this book!” I knew if he initiated a conversation now, it would be because he approved of the book and I would have to write him off. And if he walked off without a word, then I had blown my chance and I would never have the courage to chase after him and say, “It’s just a gift! It’s not for me! I would never read Eckhart Tolle!”

               
I didn’t give either scenario a chance. I averted my eyes and practically ran for the checkout line, with the cover and spine concealed beneath my arm. Maybe I should read the damn book, see what the fuss is about, and then maybe I could calm down and discover the effing Power of Now.

After all, "Life isn't as serious as the mind makes it out to be."
—    Eckhart Tolle