As Christmas approached, my coworker shared her giddy delights in the bargains she had found in stores, how her gift list was nearing completion, and now she only needed a few big boxes to ship this or that. She runs one of America’s new “blended families” with her mate. Two teenage boys belong to him and one teenage boy came with her, but they’ve managed to put it all together and somehow make it work. As she bounced around the store bubbling with ecstatic energy, her enthusiasm was almost contagious. Then everything changed. Someone broke into her family’s apartment and stole a bunch of their possessions. Thieves made off with their X-Box and all of their video game cartridges, apparently as much of a loss to the husband as it was to the boys. They also took her jewelry. The day after it happened the local paper ran a story about a series of similar break-ins that currently plagues our area. In our hard economic times, jewelry and video games don’t even need to be “fenced,” that is, turned into cash by some shady middleman. One can get cash for used games at the video game store, no questions asked, and people selling gold for cash is an everyday occurrence, with a convenient choice of outlets nearby.
Everything changed for her in the blink of an eye. She became depressed, moping around the store, not doing her work, and managing to tell any customer who would listen of her travails. Along with their sympathy, a few of them actually gave her money. One of them brought in a jar for donations, with his contribution already in the bottom of the container. Her mood briefly elevated at this outpouring of generosity, until her cashier informed her that they could both lose their jobs for trying to solicit personal donations from their customers. I feel bad for her, but I have a broader perspective tempered by time and experience. She may have lost a bunch of “stuff,” but that’s all it was, just things. At least all of her kids came home from school safe that day. Many families in Connecticut weren’t as lucky, and I tend to focus all of my sympathy on such losses that can never be replaced.
When I was a kid growing up in the ‘60’s, we had a traditional American family. Dad operated his own prosperous small business and my mom helped out at the store while managing to care for three rambunctious boys. Christmas at our house was a time of overflowing abundance. I remember getting up long before sunrise and creeping out to the living room to witness a floor packed with so many brightly wrapped packages that there was scarcely room to walk. I recently found out that my dad’s friend, who managed a little toy store (in the days when small retail outlets could still thrive), used to let my parents come in after the store closed to buy our toys. It must have been near nirvana for my dad, who absolutely hates crowds. Christmas morning, we would sit on the floor and tear open package after package, tallying our take and piling our gifts in our own little mountains.
But all too soon the flow of boxes stopped and the rush subsided. Someone usually asked, in all innocence, “Is that all?” I’m surprised our parents never boxed us up and shipped us to the North Pole. My brother Gary would quickly take his stash back to his room where he had already cleared space in his closets and drawers for his planned acquisitions, his little idiosyncrasy that has become a memory still shared with amusement. Rick and I would tend to enjoy our newfound bounty in the living room, secretly peering beneath the tree in hopes of discovering some small forgotten box that may have been overlooked.
Christmas changed forever for my family in 1969. That October, my oldest brother Rick was killed in a car crash. As the holiday approached, mom got out the boxes of decorations, determined to provide some holiday joy for her diminished family. I’ll never forget her expression when she came into my room holding one of the red felt Christmas stockings that she had made years before for each of us. Our names were sewn on the front of each of them in white felt. The one she carried said “Rick.” I wanted to tell her that it would be all right, but I couldn’t lie. All I could do was to cry with her. Just as I still do now whenever I think about that day. Not every Christmas memory is good, but they are all important. We didn’t hang Rick’s stocking that year, or for years after. But we carried on as best we could.
As I got older, my joy of acquisition was replaced by the joy of giving. I used to relish finding the right gifts for my family and friends, especially after I had a good job making lots of money. I usually put off shopping until the last minute, but I power-shopped with a ferocious intensity, usually with success. One of my favorite memories of the time was rushing out to a department store right after work in my suit and tie, trench coat flapping in my own wake, to purchase one of the new shipment of Teddy Ruxpin animatronic teddy bears for my young niece. It was the “must-have” toy of the season, and I just had to get it for her. I remember getting dressed up and taking Andrea, Sherry and Erica out to dinner at Benders then to the Palace for a live performance of "The Nutcracker." I'll never forget the look of intense joy on Paul's face when we gave him and Jennifer a computer for Christmas. Watching the latest Disney video with Jenny on Christmas Eve morning became an all too short-lived tradition that still makes me smile when I remember. It was also around this time that I started my own little tradition of buying cool Christmas gifts for myself. I gave myself some really nice stuff. One year, I won $1500 in the state lottery right before Christmas. I took my winnings in cash, and spent them in less than an hour on expensive presents for mom and dad (oh yeah, and one for me, too).
Things changed as things always do. I had a family of my own, and then I didn’t. Lots of my stuff was lost during my divorce, including a great deal of things I had acquired prior to my marriage. But what I lost was just “stuff,” and I got on with my life. Believe me, I would much rather see my daughter and her boys at Christmas than get another new sweater (and I like sweaters). My income was drastically reduced, but I still tried to find the most appropriate gift that I could afford for each recipient. After my brother Gary passed-away in 2008, we made a decision in my family: no more gifts. The presents just didn’t seem to matter anymore, but we still gathered to share a delicious dinner and recall memories. One of our best holidays happened last year, when my nephew brought several bottles of his homemade wine, and we shared stories much longer into the night than in years past.
Now, when harried shoppers ask me, “Are you done with your Christmas shopping yet?” I smugly smile and assure them that yes I am done. I don’t have to do any shopping. It’s just stuff anyway, and most stuff doesn’t matter in the long run. Something always happens to it, or we grow bored with it. I know it is trite to say that the holidays are about family, not the presents, but we never seem to realize that until too late.
So my Christmas wish for you all is for health and happiness. Don’t worry about the things, because they really aren’t all that important. If you’ve experienced a loss of stuff, well that’s too bad. You’ll get over it. If you’ve experienced the loss of a loved one in your life, I offer my heartfelt condolences, with the knowledge that while your life may never be the same, you must remember to get on with it as best you can. Those who we have loved and lost would not want us to dwell on the sorrow, but instead remember the good times that we shared, even if they were all too brief.
This year, for the first time in many years, there are three red felt stockings hanging from my mother’s fireplace mantle. They are a little faded, having survived for over half a century, but they still look pretty good. They won’t be bulging with holiday goodies come Christmas morning. They are however already filled with that most important of holiday gifts: memories.
Wishing you all a very merry Christmas and a happy and prosperous New Year.
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