So, whaddya want? - Christmas presents - Editorial

Vegetarian Times, Dec, 1996 by Catherine Censor Shemo

Every year at about this time, I call every member of my family and ask that seasonal question: "Whaddya want this year?" Usually, I'm not nearly this crass. Come holiday time, however, my only spiritual impulse is often a prayer for shorter gift-wrap lines.

It's sad, I know, but a "meaningful gift" in my family has come to mean "one that the recipient won't return." Because most of us are too busy to shop for that one-of-a-kind rarity that's sure to surprise and delight, our holiday gifts fall under the category of errand fulfillment. My sister and I always exchange refill bottles of our favorite perfume; my mom likes me to pick out a few new lipsticks; my husband writes down the name and pronunciation of his favorite single malt Scotch for my shopping convenience. But every year, my father gives me his traditional answer: "I don't want you to buy me anything" and I begin the endless shopping trip for something he wants but won't identify. I've come to think of him as the inscrutable one, He Who Must Be Surprised.

When I was younger, I could please my father with misshapen ceramic bowls' a tile ashtray (although he doesn't smoke) or something doodled on paper ripped from a three-ring binder. What a difference a decade makes. Last year's gift was a bronze architectural rounder depicting Belgium, my father's native country. I salvaged it from a demolished highway overpass. Although he had to reinforce the living room wall to hang it, he seemed to enjoy my present. It was my only hit with dad after a string of holiday flops. But what to do this year? Clearly, a nice sweater won't cut it.

In truth, there's very little to be bought that a man of six decades needs. My dad doesn't outgrow his clothes or play golf. He keeps one bottle of whiskey for guests who aren't content with orange juice. That bottle is older than I am. I've bought ties, hats, books and tickets for dad, and they've all been forgotten before the gift wrap has been discarded. What does seem to delight him, however, is time spent with me. After all these years, dad still gets a kick out of watching Saturday morning cartoons together. He'll devour anything I cook, and he even howls with laughter over my doggerel poetry. The only gift he seems to treasure from me--is me.

This year, I think I'll take a gift-giving hint from my younger, ashtray-making self: Give of your hands and your heart. While I'm a little old to draw something for the refrigerator, I can at least jot down a few good jokes for his files. And although my mother, sister and husband will get their respective store-bought gifts, I'll also make an effort to set aside time to do something special for each of them. I'm sure my mother would appreciate a few pre-cooked vegetarian casseroles that she can freeze and reheat on busy workdays. I know my sister would like homemade relaxing bath salts as well as a chance to talk about the pressures she's facing in business school. And for just one weekend, I know my husband would like to do nothing but sleep late and cuddle by the fire. This year, I don't want to just buy my way out of my holiday obligations. I want to make most of my presents. In the process, I'll truly give of myself, and I'll receive memories to warm me through the cold, dark winter.