Christmas Day + 1 Angst (part 2)

(cont. from previous entry)

So to see my father’s handwriting on this gift was unusual. I usually only saw my father’s writing on the discarded business correspondence he brought home for us to use for drawing paper – notes scribbled in the margins that to a child were inscrutable, but HAD to be important. I still remember his words on the gift, I think, “I hope you have fun with them. Merry Christmas, Love Dad”. Or something to that effect.

I ripped off the paper, standing among all the other gifts that had been unwrapped more than twenty-four hours previous. It was a deck of cards – a simple gift, a small and inexpensive gift ($1.99 almost thirty years later), but something I had wanted and specifically asked for. The fact that he had inscribed my gift naturally led me to think that my father had also picked out and purchased the cards for me – I pictured him browsing through the local five-and-dime looking for that perfect thing for me, or standing impatiently in line at the toy store, my pack of cards in hand.

He had taken the time – my busy dad, my important dad, my dad-has-to-work-late-tonight dad – he had taken the time to get me a present and write a personal note on it. And I had OVERLOOKED it. I was mortified. I thought back to the previous morning, recounting in my mind taking out the other gifts in my stocking, thanking each person for each little thing, knowing that I would want to be thanked for the time I had taken to get their gifts. I had said thank you to everyone, told everyone how much I liked what they got me, everyone except my father. I remembered him thanking ME, telling me how much he liked whatever it was I had gotten for him.

I stood there with tears in my ten-year old eyes, wondering what he had thought. Had he thought I didn’t need to thank my father? Or that I forgot? Or that I had looked down my nose at this small and inexpensive gift and thought, “A deck of cards? Gee, THANKS, Dad.” ?

I didn’t know what to do – should I say thanks to him now, or should I pretend I opened them on Christmas and just forget about it? In the end, I sought out my dad, cards in hand. I asked him if he wanted to play Hearts – oh, and by the way, I LOVE these cards you got me…they’re so great…I really wanted my own deck of cards…I was tired of playing with all those airline decks that have only 44 cards, or have dried up peanut butter on them…these are so slick and new…and a red deck – I like them much better than the blue ones…we’ll be able to play all kinds of great games with these cards…did I tell you I LOVE these cards? My father probably thought I had gone insane.

So we played Hearts, and I felt better, sure that I had glossed over the faux pas I had committed. And I’m sure my father never even noticed that I hadn’t opened his gift on Christmas morning, or that I hadn’t thanked him like I thanked everyone else. Or did he?

There’s a lesson to be learned from this episode – so much angst at such a young age, over a present that was probably the smallest and cheapest one I received that Christmas. I think the lesson is that we as adults never realize how we effect children’s lives, how hard they try sometimes to please us, how important sometimes very insignificant things are to them. I think of this, and I promise myself that I will pay attention to the small things – that I will try to understand how serious a small thing can be to a child.

My oldest son got a deck of cards for Christmas this year. No I didn’t buy them to complete some psychological Circle of Life, he asked for them – he’s been playing poker with his friends at school (?!?). He got a brand new, fresh, slick, red deck of cards, just like the one I got so many years ago. The only difference – his deck of cards went in the TOP of the stocking.