The Giving of Gifts
Well, it’s that time of year when we have to think of the perfect gift for—sigh—absolutely everyone.
Some people have it easy. My sister goes to craft shows and buys gifts to send us. I’m glad that she’s supporting craft people; but, let’s face it, nothing she ever gives is relevant to what I would even consider wanting. I can’t even give her gifts away because no one wants them.
(This is what we call the “Kushner thank you.” As in, why the hell would you buy me something like that? Yes, we freely express our views on gift giving, and it has become somewhat of a joke amongst us.)
Gift-giving was always big in my family. Let me specify and say the family into which I was born. It was impressed upon us that we had to give a gift for everything. Especially gifting our parents. Like Valentine’s day, we’d have to run down to Mr. Johnson’s store and buy Valentine boxes of chocolates that absolutely no one wanted to eat. There were the birthdays, of course and Mother’s and Father’s Day, and the holidays. It was exhausting, especially as I was trying to save my allowance for comics and movie magazines.
When I had my own family, I went entirely the other way. Gift-giving was for birthdays and the winter holidays, whichever one celebrated. And it was gifting from the parent to the child. I didn’t suggest to the children that it was appropriate for them to buy us anything. Was I wrong? Instead, I still have the holiday cards they made with various emotions expressed within. I especially enjoy the ones from their teenage years and the ones when they realized they were screwing up their lives. Those make me smile and laugh and are much more lasting than a box of chocolates.
I did demand that my husband give me gifts for my birthday. I mean, what are husbands for? Fortunately for him, I didn’t particularly care for jewelry. There wasn’t even an engagement ring because he didn’t have the money.
My husband’s tastes in gifts were somewhat lacking. I remember one birthday he gave me a three-hole punch. We all just sat around and laughed. But he redeemed himself one year by buying me a Selectric typewriter. I was thrilled. It brought me back to the glory days at Katherine Gibbs. Oh, how I loved that machine, and I have no idea why I got rid of it when personal computers won the day. I used to write in longhand on yellow, lined paper, then type, then correct, then type, ad nauseam. But I have to admit that the computer is much easier to use because you can drop your thoughts right onto the screen so easily—unless it autocorrects you.
Except between my sister and me, gifts have sort of stopped now. I lazily give the kids money for their birthdays and send e-cards for the holidays. Lately now I’m involved in another sort of gift-giving. Charities.
From a tenuous start, I have had what I must consider a rather fortunate life, certainly a life I never expected, with friends and travel and good health. So now’s the time to give to others. I try to pick my charities carefully, usually not some world-wide organization but to one that’s small and I know will benefit people the most. Food banks. So essential. My library because it’s always there when I need it, and nothing gives me such joy as finding a good read. The local woman’s shelter. And of course 5 Purple Oranges.
5 Purple Oranges is a very small charity, operating on a shoestring budget. But I like it because it focuses on giving children experiences they might not have otherwise, like being involved in the arts or going birding or also having a good book to read.
When I give to 5 Purple Oranges, I think of my grandson and all the joy he had in life before he was taken from us. We nourished him in a way some parents and grandparents aren’t able to do. He played the cello, he skateboarded—something I didn’t approve of—he hiked. But what was most important about him was his generosity of spirit.
If you feel able to, check out the website for 5 Purple Oranges and see what even a small charity is capable of. And, if you like, donate.