Sunday Scribblings #287: “Present”

As a child, I had rich Christmases. Each year the gifts were more elaborate and more expensive than the year before. Games and dolls and toys and gadgets to keep me occupied. But I never got what I really wanted. I saw them all as flashy noisy bribery to keep me out of the way.

Keep the child quiet so the grownups don’t have to deal with her. It wasn’t until much later did I realize why they felt compelled to spend so much on what meant so little to me. But by then, I was jaded to any gifts or physical expressions of love. A handicap that still cripples me now.

I have my own child now. And each year it is a battle with my parents about gifts. We just don’t have the physical room for all they want to buy her. But they persist, saying I never complained about my yearly bounty. I did. They never listened then. Or if they did, they said I was ungrateful. There were poor children that never got presents, why am I being so hard about it?

One year, I had to work the nightshift through Christmas Eve into Christmas Day. I would be home in time for dessert that afternoon. I would miss the morning with all the gift openings and surprises and happy times.

After sunset, I came home to a sullen house. Not a single gift had been opened. My father was glum, my mother in angry tears. My daughter ran to me, excited I was home.

“Yay! I got my Christmas Wish!” She was bouncing as she hugged me. Whatever mood that darkened the room was gone. “Now Christmas can start!”

As she pulled my coat off of me, I asked my parents what had happened in my absence. My mother exploded immediately. “She refused to open anything! She said all these presents were junk and didn’t mean anything to her! If she knew how much money we spent, she would have more respect and appreciation!”

My daughter, forcefully, but politely spoke up. “But Grandma, you don’t understand! I can play with toys anytime! I want my Mommy here with me! I don’t need toys, I need my Mommy! I can be in an empty house, and if I have my Mommy, I have all I need!”

My father left the room in quiet resignation. He knew the blowup that was about to start. My mother stared at my daughter, as if the child had slapped her. My daughter pulled me to the Christmas Tree, happy because she now had her most cherished gift.

Her present, was for me to be present. A gift I try to give her as often as I can. A gift I never received. But I understand why, and that helps a bit. It still hurts, knowing I was bribed with toys not only to makeup for my mother’s impoverished upbringing (she wanted me to have all the things she couldn’t have), but to keep me occupied as she fed her gambling addiction 6 nights a week.

I wanted to post something happy for the Sunday Scribbling prompt #287: “Present“. Perhaps something humorous. But once I saw the word, the memory hung in my mind like a poisoned barb. I had to expose it to air or it would fester. Forgive me.