Gift giving is so important this time of year. Some complain, feeling obligated to express emotions that do not exist.
It is more blessed to give than to receive; but there is secret disappointment when a gift is not presented in return ; next year that recipient’s name may be stricken from the list. We are human, conditioned by tradition.
Is there any simple gift anymore? If we are to believe the advertising, “No.”
Toys are not just toys; objects to trigger imagination. Playthings are designed with a preconceived notion of what they should do, how they should be handled, what their use should accomplished to “educate” young minds.
For adult make it small, if you like, just be sure it sparkles, glitters, and is impressive.
Like anything written, this is a generalization; many gifts are given without ulterior motive; expressing love and affection. Blessed, indeed, are those who give and receive for the right reasons!
In true, this was the way in the old days, fashion my mind travels back about seventy years. This was a time before everyone was conditioned to think selfishly.
Seventy years ago, an orange, an apple, some brazil nut (that’s not what we called them!), a box of Muscat raisins thrilled us. Christmas was the only time we got those. I suppose that was the only time such items were available away from the large city markets, and believe me, Saluda was away from any place back then for a kid in the backwoods!
If a wagon or bike was part of the deal we kids shared the treasure! We loved the boxes; those containers kept us entertained until they disintegrated and we burned them.
Times changed, we grew, gifts became more varied and personal, over the years; interestingly, I remember few of them.
I do remember the more precious gifts, treasured memories, each of my loved ones gave.
My Dad was not a man who easily expressed his feelings, physically or emotionally. I remember no particular physical gift from him.
What I fondly remember is the day he took me to Emory School for the first time as a 5-year-old kid. In that old red truck, we rattled up to the same building he had attended, to a chorus of what sounded like a pack of dogs chasing a fox through the woods. It was the older boys pretending to coon hunt before classes began.
Sunday afternoons, he would pile all seven of our family on that red truck; we headed to Calk’s country store for a cone of ice cream, a really rare treat.
For a nickle we could get a single dip; for a dime the triple dip of hard factory made frozen treat was incredible!
Mr Homer would entertain us with his slip off the thumb trick; we actually believed he could do it!!
He dipped the cream without ever washing his hands; making a certain sweeping gesture under the waistband of his overalls while reciting some outlandish tale. His cigar wagged over the uncovered case as he scooped.
Well, I am not dead yet!! And that ice cream was sooo good.
Before his death, Dad created an opportunity for the two of us to talk privately. This was something we rarely did. He told me how proud he was of the man I had become, how he admired my handling of my family. He let me know, he was proud to call me his son. This was a gift unlike any I will ever receive.
My memories of my Mom are of a woman who despite bouts of depression, she sought to hide, labored long and hard as a faithful companion to my Dad; raising 6 children to become responsible adults.
I see her, bent over the treadle sewing machine, in the late 1940’s and early 1950’s peddling away, her slightly bucked upper teeth, unconsciously biting her lower lip, as she stitching dresses for the two girls and shirts for three boys. She listened to her “stories” on the little brown box radio as she peddled away the hours.
She had spent much time selecting the material from the printed feed sacks that had held my Grandpa Watson’s chicken feed.
Dolly Parton describes the way I felt, in her song “Coat of Many Colors.”
Iris, my children’s mother, told me she regretted she had given me the best years of her life; a blessing for me, not for her, her meaning saddened and hurt. She gave me three children who are the light of my life, a gift beyond compare.
Linda, my wife, has given me twenty-five years of devoted cooperative companionship that I never knew could be until we became a couple; this is an eternal and undeserved blessing.
My three children, each in his own way, has shown me what unconditional love can do.
When, unintentionally, I have pushed them away; they have shown how love never fails.
Each has presented grandchildren who fill my life with pleasure.
I enjoy gifts and presents; tokens that some one cares.
I enjoy presenting unique remembrances to those I love, I hope they enjoy them and think of me as they use them.
My wish is that as the years, and I inevitably, pass they reflect on precious gifts of shared moments.
Treasures of the heart that can never be taken away.
