The Gift
Shopping for my dad was never easy, in many respects. When he was a boy, rather than making a Christmas wish list, he started making lists of gifts he didn’t want. It was sweet, in a way, as he meant to say he would be happy with almost anything, with a few minor exceptions. His first list, I have been told was quite simple, including only Barbies, socks, and Tinker Toys. My dad was more of a Lincoln Logs man. As the years went on, the list grew more and more detailed and lost its innocent charm.
By the time he was a teenager, the list was several pages long and began to include gifts he did not wish to receive again. Some entries were hurtfully specific, like “the sweater Aunt Jane gave me for my fifteenth birthday”. It became common for him to keep the list with him while opening presents—something he continued to do through my childhood, when the list had grown into more of a book. If you bought something that was in the book, he would point out by memory the exact page where it was listed, smile, and say, “I’m only showing you this because I love you.”
The worst-case scenario was a gift that inspired an immediate addition to the book. While he was never mean or openly ungrateful for anything, the mere sight of his pen and that book was a failure that stung every time. On the other hand, when the book remained closed and Dad was happy, it was a thrilling victory. Dad was an otherwise affable, charismatic, and charming person, so everyone genuinely sought his approval. He gave thoughtful and generous gifts himself, so his persnickety and unconventional perspective represented by the book was rarely challenged.
One Christmas, when my uncle Jeff’s family were in town, my cousin Harry refused to buy Dad a gift in protest of the book and the associated pressure to please him. When it was his turn to give Dad his gift, Harry panicked and said he’d left it at home. Dad looked Harry in the eye for what seemed like five minutes, opened the book, and wrote “LIES” in large capital letters. Though he smiled as he closed the book, Harry was ashamed and never made the same mistake.
Avoiding the list only grew more difficult, but we learned some reliable ways to minimize the risk. A good book, for example, was a fine option. If it was not already in his library and the synopsis on the back cover seemed like something Dad would enjoy, it would avoid any immediate embarrassment. There were other things Dad believed a person could never have too many of, like a nice fountain pen or a handsome pair of sunglasses. As a family, we certainly put that theory to the test. Cash, checks, and gift cards, however, were strictly forbidden. As noted on page seven, one should not give the gift of shopping.
Perhaps the greatest key to success was Mom. We had to be careful, because she was called on for ideas by so many of us that she couldn’t help repeating ideas, but she did her best and often came through in a jam. She was also kind enough to provide insider information on books or records we might be considering. We were rarely allowed in Dad’s office, even as adults, so it was difficult to check his inventory without her help. After Mom died, we had to invent reasons to stop by and casually investigate. That increased the urge to buy Dad things we found he needed, which turned out to be a dangerous game.
My brother stopped by to give Dad some batteries after seeing one of his smoke detectors on the counter, and Dad added “household items” to the book as an entire category. The batteries weren’t even meant as a gift, but the damage was done. A few days after Easter in 1979, he ate some chocolates Harry had mailed him. When he reached for his insulin to counteract his rising blood sugar, his supply was empty. He was found the next day, still sitting in his chair with the book in his hand.
At the funeral, I was asked to read something Dad had prepared. He started off by saying he hoped no one had gone to the trouble of bringing him a gift, which drew a laugh from the crowded church. He hoped I would keep the book, and that people might flip through it from time to time when they came to visit. Truthfully, Dad explained, he had been delighted with nearly every gift he had ever been given. The book became his way of showing us not only more about who he was, but things that were important to him. Think of those you love. Do your best to get to know people. Be as generous as you can be. Call your Mother. I don’t know how much of that was true, or for how long, because most of the time the book certainly seemed self-interested. Either way, it was a clever way to provide a legacy.
- Written for “Don’t-Buy-Me-This List”