If there’s any sort of anti-materialistic or penny-pinching bone in your body, this time of year is bound to make you a little batty. Gift guides, pop-up ads, and catalogs we never, ever intend to order from entreat us to buy, buy and buy some more. Even as I type this, hours before Christmas Eve, L.L. Bean just sent me one more email reminding me that I still have time to get a Fair Isle sweater across the country before Christmas. How is that even possible?
And yet—I deeply love the gift-giving tradition of Christmas. I love that the boys spend weeks working on their lists to send to Santa, each item more outlandish than the last. (My 6 year-old’s latest add: An LED-illuminated cactus growing kit for his room.) I love anticipating the looks on their and other loved ones’ faces when they open up items they forgot they mentioned to me months prior. And this year, the first in which they’ve used their own allowance money to buy their own gifts to give, I have loved listening to their rationale when plotting their own $2 surprises for grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins. (Nana does love chewing Trident gum on her walks, it’s true.)
Of course, I realize that the true meaning of Christmas can’t be found on Amazon. Which is why we round up loose change in the house and buy canned goods to donate at the town food pantry. We bake bread for neighbors. We have a special edition of our weekly “family meeting” and share our reflection on years past and hopes for the year ahead. And tomorrow, we will endeavor to sit through an entire church service without someone making a scene or needing a big-boy-underpants change.
Christmas morning, 1979
But hours later, when my husband and I arrange the presents under the tree and stuff stockings, I’ll remember, as I have every December since becoming a parent, the story my mother tells of the year she and my Dad finally felt like they had saved up enough money to give my sisters and I a “big” Christmas. After they hauled the Barbie pool and banana-seat bicycle up from the basement hiding spot, they stood back and just stared, in elated disbelief, at the tree and the carefully wrapped treasures around it. The gifts didn’t symbolize love, exactly, but the hard work and sacrifices they had made for the people they loved.
“We overdid it,” my mom says now. “We couldn’t help ourselves.” But looking back, I don’t think that made us feel entitled. We didn’t get everything we wanted, not by a long shot, and my mother was never the type to give in to random toy pleas in the Sears checkout aisle in the middle of the year. Christmas was special, and we all saved up for it.
It’s no wonder that my all-time favorite holiday tale, and one of my favorite short stories, period, is O. Henry’s Gift of the Magi. In it, a young, poor married man and his wife separately, and secretly, sell their prized possessions in order to earn money to buy gifts for each other for Christmas. He sells his pocket watch to buy hair combs for her; but alas, she has sold all her hair to buy a chain for his pocket watch. Their presents turn out to be useless; and all the more meaningful because of it. O. Henry writes:
The magi, as you know, were wise men – wonderfully wise men – who brought gifts to the new-born King of the Jews in the manger. They invented the art of giving Christmas presents. Being wise, their gifts were no doubt wise ones, possibly bearing the privilege of exchange in case of duplication. And here I have lamely related to you the uneventful chronicle of two foolish children in a flat who most unwisely sacrificed for each other the greatest treasures of their house. But in a last word to the wise of these days let it be said that of all who give gifts these two were the wisest. Of all who give and receive gifts, such as they are wisest. Everywhere they are wisest. They are the Magi.
I’m sure I’m not the only one who has spent the last several weeks spending more time and money than is probably wise, all because there are few things sweeter than seeing our children’s eyes light up with genuine and utter glee. To all my fellow Magi moms and dads, I wish for you a joyous holiday, and a coming year filled with all things priceless: family, friends, and love.
Oh Kelley, I am wiping the happy tears reading your memories and realizng that the best thing a parent can give is the wonderful traditions they experienced to their children and g randchildren. I remember my parents had a platform under the tree with lighted village and train set underneath and how I would play for hours anticipating the gifts that would appear there on Christmas morning. It is a magical time and every child should experience that happiness. If only every child had that chance. For those that do, lets rejoice. For those that don’t, lets pray that somehow and someday they will.
kELLEY, jUST LOVE READING YOUR WRITTEN WORDS. FULL OF JOY AND A TOUCH OF SENTIMENT FOR ALL OF US WHO HAVE SEEN THE HAPPY FACES ON OUR LITTLE ONES ON CHRISTMAS MORNING. SO MANY SPECIAL MEMORIES TUCKED AWAY FOR SAFE KEEPING . BLESSED ARE WE WHO CAN GO BACK IN TIME AND RECALL THOSE MAGICAL TIMES . HOW SAD FOR TH0SE WE LOVE WHOSE PAST HAS DISAPPEARED, TAKING THOSE TREASURED TIMES TO SOME UNKNOWN PLACE..
YOU HAVE AN AMAZING GIFT AND LOVE THAT YOU ARE SHARING IT WITH FAMILY, FRIENDS AS WELL AS TO THOSE WHO KNOW YOU ONLY FROM THE ENJOYMENT THEY RECEIVE IN READING THE ARTICLES.. HAVE AN AWESOME CHRISTMAS WITH YOUR BOYS.. THEY ARE SO PRECIOUS AND UNIQUE EACH IN THEIR OWN WAY. . HOW BLESSED WE ARE TO HAVE A FAMILY SO FULL OF LOVE AND CARING FOR ONE ANOTHER. LU, A N
Kelley, what a wonderful article. You wrote of our childhood memories with such eloquence. May the magic of Christmas continue to live in all of us young and old. To you and all your readers – may you find peace, love, and happiness in the New Year.