Receiving a gift from my mother was exactly like being Charlie Brown when Lucy would hold the football for him. Every single time, Charlie Brown would persuade himself that THIS time, Lucy was not going to pull the ball away at the last moment before he kicked it. And every single time, Lucy did. And Charlie Brown would fall flat on his back.
My mother liked to build up the excitement around her gifts well in advance. She would tell me, "I found the PERFECT present!", and she would praise the gift so extravagantly that, against all my experience and better judgment, a little ray of hope would enter my heart. Was it possible? Could it be? Would this be the ONE time she actually produced a nice present?
Odds were against it. My mother did not believe in spending money on gifts. Instead, she recycled. Apparently she had never heard the expression "'tis better to give than receive." She was all about receiving. Giving - not so much.
My father bought me the cheapest little black AM/FM transistor radio from Radio Shack for my tenth birthday, and I clearly remember being thrilled for one brief moment. But then I looked up at my mother. She was ENRAGED. My father was an idiot! A fool! Whatever had possessed him to GO TO A STORE? Money was not to be wasted on gifts - certainly not for children! Her fury continued for the rest of the evening and sucked the joy right out of my birthday. I felt confused and guilty.
My father never made that mistake again. To celebrate my thirtieth birthday, he gave me a used metal three-hole paper punch.
Occasionally my mother would ask what I wanted for Christmas or my birthday. This was actually one of her best tricks. She would invariably produce a gift close enough to the request to show she had heard it, but not near enough to be satisfying. The message was, "I decided NOT to buy you what you really want, because I can't be bothered, and you simply aren't worth it." For example, if I asked for a blue scarf, she would find a hideous pink one and expect me to be grateful. When I was in college, I dared to hope for a collection of all the Beethoven symphonies - something I very much wanted but could not afford. My mother gave me one discounted LP of one symphony. I learned if I really wanted something, I'd have to get it myself.
After my mother inherited her millions, she had three additional houses full of things to give away. She quickly sold anything of value, leaving behind plenty of detritus from which to choose. Who would get the random silver teaspoons this year? The silver tea caddy with someone else's indecipherable initials? The used kitchen towels?
My mother once made a great fuss about giving me an item of china from a pattern she called "Rose Medallion." The piece was clearly missing a lid, and had been cracked and re-assembled at some point. My mother admonished me that it was a precious antique serving dish, and I should be careful with it.
Well, times grew hard, and I had no choice but to try to sell the precious serving dish. We needed more important things. I dropped it off at a high-end consignment shop in New Canaan, CT, where the nouveau riche on the way up could purchase all the trappings of aristocracy from the debutantes on the way down, like me.
The shop called and said they were terribly sorry, but there was no market for a broken china CHAMBER POT. When I think of my mother serving food out of her precious dish, I throw up a little in my mouth.
A really exceptional present from my mother would be something she found at the Dollar Store, or Job Lot, or in the clearance department at BJ's Wholesale Club. For example, a very small scarf of thin fleece made in China, or a black plastic men's wallet.
Ever the nonconformist, my mother preferred to approach holidays in an unpredictable way. One Easter she sent packages to my kids, who were about ages 2 and 6. One present was a large rubber insect that resembled a locust, and the other was a black rubber snake. It was hard to determine which one was more vile. My mother said she assumed the children already had enough chicks and bunnies - because, of course, I was such a overindulgent money-wasting mother. As always, she knew perfectly well what was appropriate. She just refused to play along.
My parents came to visit for Easter the next year, and my mother went on and on about the marvelous Easter Egg Hunt we were going to have. Again, I felt a little ray of hope. Really? Could it be true?
After drinking her lunch, my mother kicked us all out of the playroom and hid the Easter Eggs. We waited with great anticipation. Then she allowed the kids back into the room for the great Hunt. A dozen brightly-colored plastic eggs were in obvious places... and every single one of them was empty.
The kids looked at me quizzically. They knew how to take apart a plastic Easter Egg and look for the treasure inside. But there were no treasures. It was an Easter Egg Hunt for nihilists.
My mother enjoyed giving empty things. For one of my birthdays, she went on ecstatically about my fabulous gift. When the highly anticipated moment arrived, I unwrapped a nice box from a jewelry shop and was pleasantly surprised. When I opened it up, it was empty. Just black velvet inside. Whatever she had purchased for herself she had taken out, giving me the empty box. I am not making this up.
No matter how godawful the present was, my mother would talk about it for days or weeks in advance as if it was the one thing that would make your life complete. One year she waxed eloquent in repeated phone calls about the PERFECT gift she had mailed to my daughter, who was turning eleven. She even added, "in the store, it would cost fifty dollars!"
By this time both of my kids knew not to get excited, but human beings are wired to have hope in the grimmest of situations. Even I had a hard time accepting how truly terrible her gifts always were. How could I expect children to understand?
I have no idea how she acquired my daughter's gift, but it was a fake gold, over-sized, costume jewelry owl - perfect for fifth grade.
One year she gave my son a sweatshirt that not only had the tags cut out, but also was clearly dirty. Where the hell did she even find it? Another year she gave him a huge Christmas gift bag with a bright, jolly Santa on the outside. All of us felt a little excited. My son pulled forth a dead animal skin - perhaps an arctic fox? - that my mother had left on the couch in her living room for the previous 25 years. It was filthy, and shedding its dead fur from around its gouged-out eyes. We all shrieked.
With a huge amount of fanfare, she once gave me a black beaded evening purse with tassels. You know, for all those balls I attended. Several times she gave Artiste old sweaters of my father's, each time pretending the gift was new.
And always, ALWAYS, she would expect to be effusively thanked. That was the most important part of the game: giving us some random piece of shit, and then getting us to thank her. She demanded that the children write her Thank You notes, and gave me hell if they didn't.
Fortunately my mother could not WAIT to stop giving presents altogether. She would grasp at any excuse, from the random declaration that "nobody gives presents any more!", to "the children are too old for gifts, don't you think?", to "I'm BLIND, I could not POSSIBLY buy a present." (She was nowhere near blind - plus she had many personal assistants who would have been glad to help.) Her interest in gift-giving went from punitive to non-existent.
Despite these lessons learned at my mother's knee, I absolutely LOVE giving presents! If I had money I think I would buy a present for someone every day. Think of all the delightful things there are in the world! Wouldn't it be fun to share them with everyone you love?
A friend of my daughter's once asked her in college, "Why does your mother send you so many presents?" Well, DUH. I can't think of anything more fun!
Often I will see something cute and think, "Oh! Who could I give THIS to? Do I know anybody who is having a birthday? Graduating? Expecting a baby?" But really, you don't need a reason to give someone a gift - especially if that someone is a gift to you.
Living for others makes for a full life.
The more you give away, the richer you are.”
— Lao Tzu
The more you give away, the richer you are.”
— Lao Tzu
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