Accept Gifts That Keep Giving

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.