Gift Giving: Trials and Tribulations

Mom always made a big deal of celebrating my birthday.  There were times I thought she was just looking for a reason to buy goodies and have a party. Fact is, proof is always in the pudding and evidence indicated she really did love her kids and wanted us to feel loved, important, and extra special on our birthdays.

She also hoped for the same on her birthdays. I remember at least one time that dad fell short of mom’s expectations of birthday festivities, and she could let her angst be known. Mom had a way of exhibiting her displeasure without coming right out and saying, “I’m mad as hell because nobody made a big deal of my birthday like I expected you all to do!”

Fact is, dad tried, but he was handicapped by his maleness, in addition to chinks during his upbringing. His side of the family was not big on birthday celebrations and therefore, he didn't take them seriously…until mom lowered the boom on him and trained him up proper.  He got a baptism by fire on the subject!

After some of us kids got older and had resources of our own, we took the hint many times and multiplied dad’s birthday offerings for mom, with some of our own. There was at least one time when my gift-giving was not well-received. One particular time is branded into my memory, never to be forgotten. It occurred one year when I was eight or nine years-old and got ten extra bucks for my birthday money. I felt charitable and decided to spend it on mom’s birthday gift. Her special day was four days after mine, except on Leap Year.

I stuffed the cash into my Sears Tough Skins and walked down to one of the local clothing stores. I wasn't sure what I would find for my mom's birthday present but was sure there was something in that store that would please her immensely. After wandering aimlessly in the store for a few minutes, I noticed a rack of snow boots and they were on clearance! As far as I was concerned, a pair of good winter boots was a god-sent gift fit for a queen! Those particular boots were not your average run-of-the-mill boots. They were snowmobile boots with extra-thick felt liners, heavy duty rubber uppers topped with drawstring nylon leg huggers. And they were only eight bucks! My mind was so numb with excitement, I almost forgot to collect my change after I bought a pair for mom.

I was so elated I could hardly contain myself as I hauled those boots across the street, anxious to show them off to their new owner who was currently shopping for groceries. I walked into the store, all the while admiring how great those boots looked. It was beyond my ability to comprehend how anyone could not leap for joy at the prospect of having them. I was already coveting mom’s awesome gift!

Every boy, at some point in his life, crosses the threshold of his comfortable transcendental male reality and wanders into the dark and precarious realm known as gift-giving to women. He may initially learn the hard way that there are gender-specific gifts. He may learn through painful trials that generally, women prefer jewelry, nick-knacks, flowers, and things that will enhance their beauty. Men generally prefer knives, tools, hats, guns, and stuff for their cars. And maybe a man might settle for a pair of well-fitted winter boots for a birthday gift if the right pair is offered. Present a woman with a birthday gift of heavy, felt-lined winter boots and you might as well get into the “atomic position.” That is to say, you should bend over as far as possible and kiss your butt good-bye!

Running up to mom at the grocery check-out, I held up her spanking new birthday boots. “Mom, look at these great boots I got for your birthday!”

Her immediate reaction caused confusion and a wee bit of consternation. I had to do a double-take to make sure she was serious. I got that “look” followed by words indicating those boots would just not do.

How could any person who loved life and enjoyed playing in the snow turn down a pair of good winter boots!?  For a few seconds, my cranial head fuses misfired. This was the first time in my life that one of my gift offerings had been refused, and frankly, I didn't know what to do.

Dad, who was standing nearby, could see the cerebral dissonance written all over my face and he reacted quickly. Later, I supposed that he was good at that sort of conundrum I was feeling, probably from his own past experiences. He grabbed my hand and, with a big smile, offered to walk back to the store with me. On the way, he said a few soothing words that contributed to the re-building of my emotional wreckage. I don’t remember exactly what he said, but I do remember they were words related to coping with the mystery of gender gift-giving.

“Jeff, when it comes to clothes or shoes, just let women buy their own–it’s a lot safer that way." I've remembered that sage advice and followed it explicitly since that day, over forty years ago.