The Gift That Stops Giving

Newsletter 2024-11-18

It’s not Thanksgiving yet and I’m already on course to ruin Christmas. It’s never too early to overachieve at being the worst.

On my wife’s side of the family, negotiations are underway for the format of this year’s gift exchange. In the past, we’ve done one for adults and a separate one for kids. In each exchange, we would draw names to be responsible for disappointing one specific person. Lola’s parents would also buy gifts for everyone, and we would all buy gifts for them. It’s how they get the avalanche of unwanted items that keeps their garage and attic space full for the rest of the year. Christmas is all that’s stopping them from downsizing.

This year, Lola’s siblings proposed that we switch up how we do things. I was all for it as long as it reduced the amount of shopping I had to do from “almost none” to “actually none.” Every year, I ask for whiskey and hot sauce. That’s what I get. I’m basically just requesting necessities I was going to buy anyway. I might as well ask for milk and toilet paper. The other men in the exchange take the same approach I do. They put something on an Amazon wish list that they could have easily bought for themselves. Then I click the “buy” button instead of them. That’s the magic of Christmas. The worst part is we have to open the gifts at Lola’s parents’ house while everyone watches. It’s a lot of performative pressure. I can’t be excited about making someone else buy me my weekly groceries, especially when I had to buy them mundane necessities of equal value, thus canceling out any and all potential generosity. It would be more efficient to exchange twenty-dollar bills. Better yet, we could keep our own twenties and not trade anything at all. Santa is definitely putting me on his naughty list this year.

I’m only the Grinch when it comes to adults. Even I’m not enough of a monster to advocate abolishing the younglings’ gift exchange. Kids don’t have income. (Thanks for nothing, child labor laws.) If we don’t shower them with random junk once or twice a year, how else would they fill up their rooms with pointless clutter? Tomorrow’s hoarders start today. The system could use some improvement. One of Lola’s sisters suggested that, instead of exchanging gifts kid-to-kid, we do it family-to-family. That wouldn’t work because one family had four kids instead of the more socially acceptable two. That’s what happens when a Catholic marries into a clan of Protestants. The alternative was to keep the child-to-child exchange but abandon the adult one completely. My brother-in-law, Jerry, is already talking about creating randomized spreadsheets with pre-conditions to keep children from giving gifts to their own sisters. (On that side of the family, there are only female grandchildren. Lola’s dad evidently angered/impressed the wrong/right mystical force to incur this curse/blessing.) I was once again tempted to suggest the kids exchange twenty-dollar bills, but this time with their parents’ money instead of their own. Some of us aren’t cut out for this holiday. The Grinch and I could be best friends after all.

It seems premature to be talking about Christmas already. My Halloween decorations are still up. They might stay that way. Instead of taking down the twelve-foot-tall skeleton in front of my house, I might simply drape it in Christmas lights. In the past, my holiday decorating was limited by a lack of exterior outlets. The guy who built this house in 1912 didn’t anticipate the kind of pressure I’d be under to dangle festive colored lights in 2024. Last Halloween, I got around that limitation by running an extension cord out my front door. That’s not a great plan with pigs moving around the house. The people in this neighborhood hate me enough already without me kicking off a neighborhood-wide swine chase. This year, I got a little smarter. To power the Skeleton’s LED eyes and chest, I ran an extension cord from my enclosed back porch, through the doggy door, and around the side of the house to the right spot out front. Rather than putting that cord away, I could leave it out all winter to power the next holiday’s decorations. All I need to add is a power strip to support multiple strands of lights. I could wrap them around the skeleton like a giant, undead Christmas tree. I’m not sure if that would count as pro or anti-holiday spirit, but it would definitely qualify as cool. The downside to that approach is it would require me to buy exterior Christmas lights. Any plan that takes one or more steps generally doesn’t happen around here—unless I can pawn them off on the kids. The girls have been asking when we can put up the Christmas tree. I told them we can do it when they take down the skeleton. They were the ones who put it up, after all. Surely they can manage the process in reverse. Obviously that’s not the case. They can do literally anything except clean up after themselves. All messes must stay in place forever.

Our past Christmas gift traditions will likely remain stuck in place like that gaudy skeleton out front. On Lola’s side of the family, there is no final decision maker. It’s possible we could all show up to Christmas following four completely different gift plans. I’m okay with that as long as they all benefit me. I’m not opposed to driving home with a van full of whiskey and hot sauce while giving nothing in return. Jerry and I are already making side deals. We decided to have our own separate gift exchange where we give each other the most random and useless item we can find. That’s a dangerous challenge to get into with me. I have a history. My past gifts include a seven-foot-tall taxidermy bear in a tuxedo, a six-foot-long taxidermy mountain lion in a college hoodie, and a 3D-printed bust of my friend’s head. I’m going to put way less effort into Jerry’s gift. He will probably receive the ugliest thing I can find in a thrift store for less than two dollars. Random tchotchkes are good, but haunted dolls are better. Bonus points if it contains lead paint or uranium. Gifts that cause active harm to the recipient are the best ones of all. Tis the reason for the season.

Things are simpler on my side of the family. There was no talk of modifying the core gift exchange, although a few individuals have already gone rogue. My sister Sasha is continuing her unstoppable rise to the status of super aunt. Each Christmas, she makes a gift for all the kids. Last year, she had each child pick out a roll of fabric and then made them customized blankets. I’m not sure what she has up her sleeve for this year, but hopefully it’s something less labor-intensive. It’s awfully rude of her to one-up my zero-effort gifts. Sasha isn’t just overachieving at Christmas. She also excels at birthdays. She now sends cards—with money—to each child. The surest way to earn love is to buy it. My children get very excited about those five-dollar missives. Last week, Waffle opened hers at the dining room table in front of all of her sisters. Instead of the usual five dollars, Waffle got a whopping ten. The other girls noticed. Pandemonium ensued. Sasha later explained that she didn’t have change, so she either had to send too much money or get the card in the mail late. Little did she know the drama she would cause. Or maybe she knew exactly what she was doing. If I don’t tell them what happened, the other girls can spend the next year wondering what Waffle did to become Sasha’s favorite. Perhaps it will lead to healthy competition. More likely, it will cause open warfare. That’s just what Sasha wanted. The best aunts always sow chaos.

Sasha is good with gifts, but not as good as our mom. She always buys presents for all of her children and grandchildren. She has her approach dialed in. Most years, she gets all the guys beef jerky. I have no complaints. Like most men, I’m biologically incapable of turning down meat. Last year, my mom also gave all of us anti-choking kits. Apparently our chewing left something to be desired. Maybe she should run that jerky through the blender first. My siblings and I are less skilled at buying gifts for her. Like the rest of us, our mom and dad buy their own stuff and don’t really need anything. For my dad, my siblings and I have established an arms race of providing increasingly obnoxious bird feeders. Last year, mine was big enough to accommodate an entire flock at once. If I want to one-up myself this year, I’ll have to get him a feeder the size of a bus. When the flock achieves critical mass and carries him away, it will be all my fault. We don’t have a default gift for my mom. The closest thing would be chocolate covered cherries. The second choice would be chocolate covered anything else. The best gift we could give her would be to be less terrible people. That’s not going to happen. Time to hit the candy aisle.

Photo by Thought Catalog on Unsplash

Christmas is easier in my own house. Lola and I have enough children that we do our own gift exchange separately from grandparents, aunts, and uncles. Lola buys gifts year-round whenever something happens to be on sale. Many times, the intended recipient is with her in the store and they pick it out themselves. Then the gift goes upstairs in our closet for months. There’s always a chance we’ll forget about it and buy that kid something different, only to discover the original gift half a year later. Christmas in July is very real in this house. That’s the ultimate flex. We’re so good at buying gifts that we even surprise ourselves.

The kids give us gifts, too. The elementary school runs a seasonal shop where students can buy presents for their parents—using their parents’ money, of course. It’s my favorite part of Christmas. It’s fascinating to see what my children think I want. One year, they got me a laser pointer and, another year, an adjustable screwdriver. It was bold of them to think I have the skills to fix anything. Perhaps the gift was supposed to be aspirational. The kids were closer to the mark with the laser pointer. I have the same attention span and interests as a cat. The best gift they got me was a pair of Spock socks, which are exactly what they sound like: blue socks with Commander Spock on the side. I wear those at least once a week when it’s cold outside. To pick out that gift, the kids needed two critical pieces of information about me: I like Star Trek, and I have feet. Lola has been jealous ever since. I don’t know what they got her that year, but it wasn’t Starfleet-themed footwear. Perhaps I could achieve some husband points by regifting the socks to her. They’d be knee-high, but that just means they would keep her even warmer. Meanwhile, I could go back to entertaining myself with that laser pointer because I certainly won’t be using the screwdriver.

Anyway, that’s all I’ve got for now. Catch you next time.

James