Dan and I went to church today, and then we went to do the last bits of Christmas shopping. Between church and shopping, I started thinking of this one Christmas, when I got a few gifts labeled, “For a girl.” You know those trees they put up at church at Christmas that have labels on them? They say for a girl, age 9, navy blue pants, size 9. Or, for a boy, age 4, stocking cap… or for a girl, age 16, sweater, size small adult… or for a boy age 14, winter coat, size medium adult. I think I’ve only bought something for someone on one of those trees one time, but I remember that I bought something pretty cheap, something from Wal-Mart, something that fulfilled the label. I wrapped it, I felt kinda good about myself and then I took it into church and put it beneath the tree.
Quite a few years ago, I think it was the winter of 1990, I remember looking through toy catalogs, specifically at a Barbie Corvette Power Wheels. I looked at the price, I think it was $299 at the time. I remember asking my Mom how much Santa could spend on Christmas. I remember looking at the weight limit on the Power Wheels. I was just under it. I had been looking at Power Wheels for a few years, every year really thinking that I might find a gigantic present under the tree. Each year, waking up at 4am, 5am, 5:30am, staring at my tiny Minnie Mouse watch under the glow of my Mickey Mouse nightlight, waiting for it to be 6am, the time when I was allowed to get out of bed. A quick scan of the living room usually proved that I did not get a Power Wheels. The excitement of the whole event didn’t leave me disappointed though. I loved Christmas and I loved the way our family would keep presents a secret from everyone else so that we would all be surprised on Christmas morning. I loved taking my $5 and shopping for my siblings and my parents at “Santa’s Secret Shop” at school and then carefully wrapping each tiny gift, a “pearl” ring for mom, a red handkerchief for dad, snowman earrings for Julie, covering each member of the family. The winter of 1990 was a tough one though. My dad had been out of the house for a few years and I knew that we were struggling. I noticed that my mom was paying for groceries with coupons, even though she had us go on ahead before she paid. I knew that I wasn’t going to get a Power Wheels, but I always hoped against hope that there was a real Santa that could work some magic.
That Christmas morning, I woke up early and I found some gifts under the tree. I don’t remember what all I received, but I do remember one gift in particular. On the one side was written, “To: Laurie, From: Santa”, in my mother’s familiar scrawl. As I tore open the paper, I saw the other side of the label, written in sharpie marker, in a handwriting I did not recognize, “For a girl, age 9, navy blue pants, size 9.” My heart sank. I opened the box to find what the label described. They were awful, uncool, cheap navy blue pants that I never wanted to wear. Sure, I wore mostly Julie’s hand-me-downs, but I didn’t want these pants. I think I was a little angry and I’m not exactly sure why. I don’t think it was because the pants were cheap, but more because they weren’t ones my mom would have picked out for me. They were foreign and strange on a holiday that should be familiar and warm. It was a hard year. As hard as this was for me though, I’m sure it was much worse for my mom, who had to watch us open gifts that weren’t hers, who likely had to see us smile through the confusion and try our best to be the grateful kids she raised us to be.
So, if you grab a label off of one of those trees this year. Try not to imagine someone so poor that any gift would make them happy. Try instead to imagine me, 9 years old, going through tough family struggles for a period of time. Try to imagine a little girl who still wants something as nice as what her own mother would give her if she could. Maybe not a Power Wheels, but at least something that you would get your own child, or sister, or mother, something with a little dignity and a little love.
