Gifts were never a big part of life in my family, and when they did appear, they were generally a bit confusing. I would never say that I was deprived—I was lucky to grow up in a stable family, in an upper middle class suburb of New York City. But I’m not going to pretend that it didn’t bug me when my elementary school classmates would show up after Christmas break boasting of new Nintendo games and Laser Tag sets and hundred dollar Nikes, while my Hannukkah haul would include a dreidel, a sheet of stickers, and six other former inhabitants of a local dollar store. If me or my sister got a pencil on the second day of Hannukah, you knew a pencil sharpener was on the way later that week.
My mother would generally leave the price tags on. Years later I would ask why she doesn’t remove the tags, and she would say, with more than a hint of self-satisfaction and no trace of irony, “I want everyone to know how much I spent.”
To give you a sense of how different my parents are, my father, who I now work for, decided to splurge on a 31st-birthday gift for me this year. My birthday is near the holidays so he was overly generous, justifying it as not only a birthday gift but also an end-of-year employee bonus of sorts, buying me a new television. It was the perfect gift, in that I had already picked it out and even purchased it for myself—it was clearly something I wanted. He generously covered my credit card bill for the TV.
My mother didn’t need to get me anything for my birthday, and I don’t want to sound ungrateful. But the assortment of items in the gift bag she presented is nothing less than mystifying. Here’s the rundown:
—One (1) 10 ounce package of Fruit & Nutty brand dried apricots, unopened (though it looks like it might have been sitting around for a little while).
—One (1) small package of supermarket brand chocolate chip cookies. The package is open and appears to be about half empty. An inspection of the torn label from the supermarket indicates that it was originally priced at $2.00 and then marked down to $1.00. The sell by date is Dec. 1, a week before I received the package.
—One (1) small tin containing 50 Earl Grey tea bags, unopened.
—One (1) stretchable book cover, unopened. It’s black, fits books up to 8” x 10”, and according to the label is washable and easy to use.
—One (1) Kids Scribble Slate With Chalk and Eraser. Basically, it’s a small (maybe 4” x 6”) chalk board… with chalk and eraser. The white price tag reads “RETAIL $.99.” (I would have thought the “retail” part would be implied by the fact that it’s a price tag on an item in a retail store, but who am I to say?)
—One (1) 1 ounce package of Kent brand Olite sugar free hard lemon candies. Slogan: ‘”Enjoy the great taste of lemon.” But don’t enjoy it too much, because according to the warning label, excess consumption may have a laxative effect.
—Three (3) 3.5 oz. Lindt brand chocolate bars, wrapped together in a red bow. In an interview conducted while researching this essay, my mother revealed that they were actually a gift to me from a family friend.
—One (1) Rapid brand X-Ray model stapler. It’s small (about 4” long), and light green. The price tag is where things get strange. It says “REG PRICE 2.99” and this is crossed out with a large, neat X. Under that, it says $4.49, no X. It’s hard to imagine that this stapler was marked up from its original price, but maybe the store had a run on small green staplers.
—One (1) bottle of Puritan’s Pride brand Vitamin C tablets. The unopened bottle contains 60 500 mg tablets and is “inspired by nature,” according to the label. I can’t help but wonder if “inspired by nature” is an “orange drink” or “cheese food”-like euphemism for something that didn’t actually come from nature. Sort of like how movies that are “inspired by a true story” give you more than mere facts.
And finally…
—One (1) bottle of Natural Wealth brand Natural Royal Jelly. The bottle contains 50 100 mg softgels. There’s no real explanation of what it is or does. The open bottle has a faded price tag on top ($4.89), and an expiration date on the bottom: “EXP 7/99.”
As if that wealth of goodies doesn’t stand on its own, there’s a card. The card has a bad joke about piercings, which is a little odd considering that I don’t have any piercings. On the inside, my mother wrote, “Dear Zack, you’re a reasonable guy. Best, Mom and Dad.”
It’s thrilling to know that the woman who gave birth to me 31 years ago thinks I’m a reasonable guy, and I have to admit, it’s nice to know that she wishes me the best.
My father was there when I went through the gift bag, and was just as mystified as I was. Never one to hold back, he said to my mother, “That’s not a collection of gifts, that’s just some stuff you found lying around the kitchen!” The chance that she meant the assortment as a joke vanished when we saw her shrug and frown, embarrassed. I smiled and thanked her for the gifts.
The next day, I couldn’t resist asking her what she was thinking. “I wanted to give you things that are a bit of a luxury, things you like, but wouldn’t normally buy for yourself.” It’s hard to argue with logic like that. Indeed, I would have probably never got around to purchasing that chalkboard, or the half-eaten box of cookies. And I shouldn’t have been surprised—after all, this a woman who once wrapped a package my father ordered for himself and gave it to him for his birthday. (This year, she gave him boxers that were one size too big. “Oh, you’re only XXL?” she said, as if to drive home the fact that he can lose a few pounds.)
Oh well, I shouldn’t complain too much. I know she means well, and she certainly put more thought into her gift for me than my father did, even if he was more generous. And hey, bottom line: this bag is a collection of items that I will keep together and cherish forever, stored in a cool dry place to avoid spoilage, except for the odd occasion when I drag it out as a conversation piece.
