JUST TELL ME WHAT YOU WANT
It's only during the Christmas season that I think of killing my family, mostly because getting a gift list from them is about as easy as doing a root canal on a crocodile. A few years ago, I put my frustration down on paper. It is the following:
One of the joys of Christmas is exchanging gifts with loved ones and seeing the happiness that comes from a thoughtful present. That is, if we haven't already strangled our loved ones in trying to get them to tell us what they want.
We are driven to such extremes in part because we care. On one hand, we want our gifts to be glowingly special, and damn the expense. On the other hand, we don't want people giving us presents to go to much trouble. Naturally, the upshot of such thoughtfulness is exasperation, usually triggered by somebody saying such things as "oh, anything you get me is fine," "oh, I have everything I need and want" or "you don't want that."
Those statements, no matter who says them, are utter lies. You say you have everything you want? Fine, then merge with Vishnu or whatever and get off my gift list. Everybody needs and wants something, unless they're dead set on being a pain in the rear. Karma won't punish you for asking for a new sweater or a pair of mittens. (It might, however, punish you for asking for a collection of Pauly Shore movies.) But friends and family will punish you if you deflect their gift inquiries with transcendent explanations and bovine serenity.
People who say that whatever we give them is fine deserve everything they get, like a neurotic spider monkey. Let's face it, a lot of what we get is not fine at all. Otherwise, no one would have ever thought of the Island of Lost Toys. Otherwise, there would be no exchange policies in department stores. Otherwise, our closets and attics would be less crowded. Keeping quiet about that may spare the feelings of family and friends, but it ensures you a never-ending supply of terra cotta Elvis statues.
Maybe shame and insecurity lead people to tell us that anything we give them will be fine. Maybe they fear subjecting their tastes and desires to the judgment of family and friends. For instance, when a little girl asks for a Barbie set, it's no big deal. When a 55-year-old man does so, it's cause for alarm and dismay.
But remember, your family and friends will stick with you through thick and thin and unseemly attachments ot Mattel toys. And because they are your family and friends, they will sneer at you only when you are out of sight and earshot allowing you to keep your self-esteem.
People who presume to dictate our gifts to us may be the most irritating about gift-giving. You say you want a new coat for Christmas. They say, "A new coat? Oh, you don't want that! If you're cold, you want a trip to the Grand Caymans! I'll just call my travel agent and arrange everything!" You say you want new golf balls; they give you a chrome and neon, battery-powered sculpture that looks like a dancing garbage can. You must be firm with these people or get used to running fake obituaries during the Christmas season in order to deflect their generosity. (The fake obit thing only works a couple of times.)
How then does one make sure that the joy of giving during Christmas doesn't lead to felony assault? It was my mother who gave me the answer. Years ago, I asked her to make a list of things she wanted for Christmas. Instead, she pulled out a catalog, pointed to an item — I believe it was a purse — made sure I committed the stock number to memory, and told me to get it with the same fervor that Spartan mothers would tell their sons to return from battle either with their shield or upon it. But, I asked, wouldn't it be better to give me a list so I could surprise her on Christmas morning? She narrowed her eyes, slumped her shoulders and cast the sort of gaze upon me that implied that she was looking at Parnell intellect in its twilight. "John," she said, "I'm 57, and I've had plenty of surprises in my life. I don't need another one on Christmas. I need that purse." She got the purse.
Does such directness take something out of exchanging gifts? Maybe. But it sure beats chasing a spider monkey around the house.
It's only during the Christmas season that I think of killing my family, mostly because getting a gift list from them is about as easy as doing a root canal on a crocodile. A few years ago, I put my frustration down on paper. It is the following:
One of the joys of Christmas is exchanging gifts with loved ones and seeing the happiness that comes from a thoughtful present. That is, if we haven't already strangled our loved ones in trying to get them to tell us what they want.
We are driven to such extremes in part because we care. On one hand, we want our gifts to be glowingly special, and damn the expense. On the other hand, we don't want people giving us presents to go to much trouble. Naturally, the upshot of such thoughtfulness is exasperation, usually triggered by somebody saying such things as "oh, anything you get me is fine," "oh, I have everything I need and want" or "you don't want that."
Those statements, no matter who says them, are utter lies. You say you have everything you want? Fine, then merge with Vishnu or whatever and get off my gift list. Everybody needs and wants something, unless they're dead set on being a pain in the rear. Karma won't punish you for asking for a new sweater or a pair of mittens. (It might, however, punish you for asking for a collection of Pauly Shore movies.) But friends and family will punish you if you deflect their gift inquiries with transcendent explanations and bovine serenity.
People who say that whatever we give them is fine deserve everything they get, like a neurotic spider monkey. Let's face it, a lot of what we get is not fine at all. Otherwise, no one would have ever thought of the Island of Lost Toys. Otherwise, there would be no exchange policies in department stores. Otherwise, our closets and attics would be less crowded. Keeping quiet about that may spare the feelings of family and friends, but it ensures you a never-ending supply of terra cotta Elvis statues.
Maybe shame and insecurity lead people to tell us that anything we give them will be fine. Maybe they fear subjecting their tastes and desires to the judgment of family and friends. For instance, when a little girl asks for a Barbie set, it's no big deal. When a 55-year-old man does so, it's cause for alarm and dismay.
But remember, your family and friends will stick with you through thick and thin and unseemly attachments ot Mattel toys. And because they are your family and friends, they will sneer at you only when you are out of sight and earshot allowing you to keep your self-esteem.
People who presume to dictate our gifts to us may be the most irritating about gift-giving. You say you want a new coat for Christmas. They say, "A new coat? Oh, you don't want that! If you're cold, you want a trip to the Grand Caymans! I'll just call my travel agent and arrange everything!" You say you want new golf balls; they give you a chrome and neon, battery-powered sculpture that looks like a dancing garbage can. You must be firm with these people or get used to running fake obituaries during the Christmas season in order to deflect their generosity. (The fake obit thing only works a couple of times.)
How then does one make sure that the joy of giving during Christmas doesn't lead to felony assault? It was my mother who gave me the answer. Years ago, I asked her to make a list of things she wanted for Christmas. Instead, she pulled out a catalog, pointed to an item — I believe it was a purse — made sure I committed the stock number to memory, and told me to get it with the same fervor that Spartan mothers would tell their sons to return from battle either with their shield or upon it. But, I asked, wouldn't it be better to give me a list so I could surprise her on Christmas morning? She narrowed her eyes, slumped her shoulders and cast the sort of gaze upon me that implied that she was looking at Parnell intellect in its twilight. "John," she said, "I'm 57, and I've had plenty of surprises in my life. I don't need another one on Christmas. I need that purse." She got the purse.
Does such directness take something out of exchanging gifts? Maybe. But it sure beats chasing a spider monkey around the house.
posted by John Parnell at 7:23 PM
1 Comments:
Yikes!! I'm SO guilty of this and didn't realize it until I read this hysterical post. My husband has been worrying for a couple of weeks about getting me a present and I keep telling him "no, honey - you don't need to get me anything. Honest. I've done a lot of shopping this month so just don't worry about it." Luckily for me, he was onto me and is out right now shopping for a present and I'm couldn't be happier about it. Please don't kill me...
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