If I put my mind to it, I could probably list almost every
gift I have received as an adult and many from my childhood. The first one I
remember wasn’t a planned gift but I’m counting it because it’s my first memory
in life. When I finally recalled it decades later and described the dress I was
wearing, who I was with, and how it came to be, my parents knew the day – and that
I was three years old.
My grandmother and her mother were walking me to the store,
one on either side of me holding my hands, and occasionally swinging me, which
was a thrill for me. Unfortunately, they weren’t swinging me as we crossed the
railroad track and my black patent leather shoe got stuck between a rail and the
ground beside it and weren’t able to retrieve it without destroying it. They
took me on a bus to replace my shoes and I wouldn’t realize until many years
later that the bus fare alone was probably a huge hardship for them. This realization
was what made me recall the story and tell it to my parents. At the time, I just
felt special that I got to ride on the bus in my yellow dress with Grandma and
Granny and get new shoes.
The second gift I remember vividly was a giant paper doll
from Grandma. When I say giant, I mean giant. Grandma always bought the same
gifts for my cousin Dina and me, so I hope paper dolls were also her favorite
toys and she was truly as thrilled as I was. We were sitting on the floor at
Dina’s house when we opened these giant paper dolls and they were taller than
we were sitting down.
Later, because Grammy competed with Grandma in pretty much
every way that I can think of except for saying the worse cuss words, Grammy gave
me Jenny, the almost life-sized real doll. I can’t say that I loved Jenny more
than I did the paper doll, but I was equally thrilled to get her and the two
dresses that my grandmother made for her because she was sure we wouldn’t find
clothes for her in stores. (pssst, Grammy, 4T might have worked but I loved
those dresses.)
I sincerely appreciated every gift I received and still have
many of them. As I see them in my home or pull them out of the cabinets to use
(lots of kitchen gifts . . . one heavy lead
crystal glass remains of the four Aunt Jackie gave me in forty year ago for
Christmas, I never bake a whole turkey and seldom drink or serve wine but the
turkey platter that Sherri and Wayne and wine glasses that Tammy and Chuck gave
me for Christmas and a wedding gift nearly that long ago are still in the top
shelves of my cabinets. Strange as it may seem, I think of the gifts and people
who gave them to me sometimes when I’m not using or looking at them. I remember
my first roll-on deodorant and lip gloss – an Avon gift from an aunt to acknowledge
that she realized I was growing up. In a small way, that acknowledgement changed
my life.
When Uncle Mickey married Pam, I thought I hit the gift
jackpot and that’s big for someone who had sincerely loved every gift. Maybe
because they were close in age (6 years older than me) it was easier for her/them
(I assumed her at the time) to know my exact taste so well. Their gifts weren’t
extravagant, just so me. I preferred to think age had nothing to do with it and
Pam, who became a close friend, person to run to when Mom was on my nerves, and
softener to the love-hate relationship that Uncle Mickey and I had had since he
had five sisters, no brothers and I was his third niece and he didn’t want ‘just
another girl’. One of Pam’s biggest gifts was teaching me anatomy and guided me
into the medical field, a place I never expected to go but It was a perfect fit
when I got there.
A few years after they divorced, Uncle Mickey gave me a
sweater for Christmas. Just as I had appreciated the jellybean crock the year
before (which I still have and use as a planter now because I would never own
enough jellybeans to fill it), I appreciated this sweater but seriously
wondered what he was thinking. It wasn’t like anything I wore – not my style or
colors. There wasn’t a single reason I could think of for that sweater to have
said, “Sandy,” to him.
I discussed this sweater with Mom later and admitted that I
was struggling with hurt feelings because it seemed to say he either didn’t pay
attention me anymore, or he just picked up ‘something’ for me without giving it
any thought. She said he probably liked the sweater and figured since he liked
me, too, we belonged together. I told her I would have worn it even without
that story but thanks for trying to make me feel better. I did hope it was
something that simple and it was ridiculous for me to feel hurt.
The first time I wore that sweater out, I got more compliments
than usual. People told me I looked beautiful, happy, healthy, and asked if I
had changed my makeup or done something different with my hair. Every time I
wore that sweater, people reacted similarly. A few might have said they liked the sweater,
but the comments were overwhelmingly about me with no mention of the it.
Years later, when ‘having colors done’ became a thing and I
came home with my swatch packet, my best colors were in that sweater. And I was
still wearing that sweater (as I did until it fell apart). I was also liking
Uncle Mickey enough to thank him for seeing me better than I saw myself – but harbored
enough of the smart ass/hate side of our relationship to tell him he missed his
calling. He should have been a fashion consultant instead of a Naval Engineer.
The cryptic sweater ended up being an amazing gift that kept
on giving, long after it was gone. I’m loving that sweater right now, decades
later and wishing Uncle Mickey was still alive so I could call and tell him.
Again.
I am not a fan of registries and gift lists and highly
recommend allowing people to give what they care to look for or are moved to gift based on what you
mean to them. Sometimes, it is more of a gift than you can imagine.
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