Ah, the holidays. It’s a time to have your grandma fill you with mysterious beige food and spend time watching your coworkers get horrifyingly tipsy. To sit through hours of your niece playing with whatever loud, annoying toy she’s been given. Not to be a Scrooge, but I think we could all be making a bit more of this.
I propose a new tradition.
When I think back and try to think of the best gifts I’ve ever received, there are several: the Yamaha PSR-11 I got when I was 8, the roses some guy gave me at age 20, and the vibrator I got for my 31st birthday.
I have been given more expensive things, things that I had specifically asked for, but the gifts mentioned above stick out in my mind because they represented someone thinking of me and saying, “this could be the future…I want to help you get there.”
I was initially really, really frustrated with the keyboard because I couldn’t play it. I was convinced that it had been given to me because dad secretly wanted one. I just wasn’t seeing the future that mom and dad saw. What I didn’t understand was that they had noticed me taking to my sister’s 80s equivalent of Pianosaurus and thought “she’s picked her instrument.” Eight years after buying me that keyboard, I stood in front of them saying, “I have gone as far as I can go with this. I need more keys.” Eight years after the keyboard, those forward-thinking parents moved a cherry-stained spinet into their house.
The first guy to ever give me flowers was basically just doing it because I think he thought he was supposed to. It wasn’t my birthday or Valentine’s or anything; he just showed up to hang out with twelve red roses bound together with a ribbon and an antique key. He said it was the key to his heart. Granted, that’s a little cheesy, but I didn’t care. I dried the flowers and kept them until they fell apart. I still have the key in a box somewhere, along with every poem ever written to me and a hand-made black valentine.
“But Amy,” you say, “stop being a cock tease. Get to the part about the vibrator.”
Oh, come now (no pun intended). What kind of blogger would I be if I kept this as just one post? It would be so long as to tax your attention, after all. I promise not to leave you hanging, so long as you promise to check back tomorrow. Deal?