Saturday, December 24, 2011

Teenage Wisdom and The Garbage Bag Christmas

It took me a total of about 8 hours to wrap all of the presents for my children this year.  If I were reading this and not writing it, I would think that would indicate that there had been a huge pile of presents in my basement, but if I thought that, I would be wrong.  The truth is, there are two small piles for each child.  Very small.  We're talking really, really small.  So, why on earth did it take so long to wrap them?

I guess I was hoping that my basement had some sort of magical powers, that I would come upstairs and busy myself with some task or other, and in the meantime a Christmas miracle would occur and turn those paltry piles into staggering stacks of Christmas joy.  I spent a crazy amount of time down in that basement, staring at those presents and trying to figure out how to make "less" seem like "more".  Could I wrap DVD's in shirt boxes?  How many times could the box in a box in a box trick be pulled off in a single session of Christmas morning mayhem?  I walked through the basement looking for things that I could wrap and give to the kids.  Surely there must be things in that cluttered cavern that they'd never seen before?  I searched for stocking stuffers.  Maybe Alex would like a...few cans of ravioli?  Would Emily believe that Santa had brought her...ramen noodles?  At some point, out of money, time and options, I gave up.  I realized that what there was, there was.  I was dejected, depressed, disappointed.

After three Christmases as a full-time college student, we'd had some somewhat slim Christmases in the present department, but this year, just one week after graduation, although we'd finally made it happen, Dave and I had limped over the finish line, dragging one leg behind us.  Getting through college as an adult and a parent required many sacrifices, financial and otherwise, from both us and our children.  We'd forgone fancy dinners out, vacations, and other luxuries.  We'd scraped and struggled and pinched pennies until they cried for mercy.  We'd gotten there, but it was a long, hard road.

I pulled my son, 16 years old, aside.  I told him that there were three really cool presents down in the basement for him, but little else.  I apologized with tears in my eyes, told him that I was sorry that we couldn't do more this year, and hoped that he would understand.  He just smiled and said, "Really?  THREE really cool presents?  Mom!  That's awesome!  Now I can't wait to see what they are!"  At first I thought he was confused, and I felt compelled to restate my point.  I explained, again, that yes, there were a few things down there that I knew he would love, but that they were nothing "big".  No video game systems, no keys to a car, no plane tickets to exotic locales.  And then he proved to me, not that I should have been surprised, that he is one of the most beautiful gifts that I've ever received.  He said, "Mom, it's okay.  Really.  You know what?  It's okay for us [he and his little sister] to not get everything we want for Christmas.  You guys try to spoil us all the time, but sometimes we have to learn that we can't have it all.  I'm excited about the cool presents that you picked out for me.  It doesn't matter if there aren't a lot of presents.  Sometimes we need a little perspective, and that's okay."  God, I love that kid.  That's my Christmas present.  For all of the rotten things that people have to say about how self-centered and entitled today's teenagers are, one would have to assume that those people have never met Alex.  I wanted to give him everything, and the reality was that he required very little.  What I wanted, what I've always dreamed of giving them, was a Garbage Bag Christmas.

I was eleven years old, and no longer believed in Santa, but I loved Christmas all the same.  My father might tell a different story, but as far as I was concerned, we lived a great life, not a wealthy one, but we had everything that we needed, and most of what we wanted.  Like most parents, I suspect that mine kept us insulated from the financial struggles that they endured during our childhood, but I never knew it.  There were always more than enough gifts under the tree, and Christmas was a time of family, food and tradition.  The year that I was eleven, however, was the most extravagant Christmas of my life.  The Garbage Bag Christmas.

My mother had just closed her first sale as a real estate broker, having purchased a Century 21 franchise and opened her own office in Lenox, Massachusetts.  The check was a big one, and a major windfall right before the Christmas holiday.  What we didn't know was that Mom had a big plan in mind.  When we stumbled down the bedroom stairs, just past dawn on Christmas morning, we couldn't believe what we saw.  My sister and I stood there, dumbfounded, staring at giant black Hefty bags, filled to the brim with brightly colored packages.  There were boxes in every shape and size, ribbons, bows, and all the trimmings.  I don't know how many gifts were in there, but there were more than my eleven-year-old eyes had ever seen.  Mom had gone crazy buying presents, and it was a unwrapping frenzy like no other.  Mom and Dad sat in their chairs with their coffee while the four of us tore into package after package, squealing and giggling with delight as tissue paper ghosts flew through the air and discarded bits of wrapping paper littered the floor.  But the biggest smiles were on the faces of my parents that day.  They were overjoyed.  The Garbage Bag Christmas would go down in the family history books.

What I realized last night, was that although I remember the seemingly never-ending pile of presents, I don't remember a single thing that I got that year, or really any other.  I remember all of those Christmases; I remember being excited and opening my presents and loving them.  However, not a single memory exists of a Christmas when there were not a lot of gifts to be opened, although I've no doubt that there were some of those.  Perhaps I noticed at the time, but as the years have gone by, those memories, if they existed at all, have faded into the rest of my life's tapestry.  The memories have become interwoven with all the others, but only the most important ones still live in the forefront of my mind.  I remember being happy, and seeing the smiles that lit up my parents faces.  I remember opening the living room door to see what had been left by the fireplace.  I remember being allowed to have a small glass of wine with Christmas dinner, in the Italian tradition.  I remember lasagne and garlic bread and a prayer around the dinner table.  I remember Christmases spent with my huge Italian family, and barely understanding the myriad of conversations happening all around me at one time.

Maybe someday, The Garbage Bag Christmas will happen in my living room, too.  But until then, I will revel in those little moments of being a parent that mean so much.  Watching the faces of my children light up as they unwrap one of those truly special gifts that came from my heart, and knowing that they will remember the smile on my face all the days of their life.

Have a wonderful, joyful and blessed Christmas.

2 comments:

  1. Dearest Gina,
    I have tears running down my face reading this.
    You so touch my heart.
    This brings back so many wonderful memories.
    One I remember is your family spending Christmas Eve with us ( when you lived in Stratford) then your mom and dad taking you kids home, tucking you in and staying up half the night setting up and decorating the Christmas tree "Santa' brought you girls. So many wonderfilled memories.
    Also, I can't imagine your children being anything less than fantastic with you & Dave as parents. Much Love, Aunt Gloria.XO'S all around.

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  2. Oh golly. I got tears on my keyboard.

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