by Annmarie Ferry
Response to invitation to write #8, The Gift http://trailbrazin.blogspot.com/2016/01/invitation-to-write-8-gift.html
Christmas is always an adventure with my in-laws. It is an understatement to say that they love Christmas. They adore it, worship it. The decorating begins the day after Thanksgiving and ends a week later. Yes, folks, these people take off work for a week to adorn every room in their home with Christmas trimmings, right down to the toilet seat covers and shower curtains. If you know me, you're thinking, "Bwahahahaha! There's that signature Annmarie exaggeration and sarcasm."
Not this time.
I, on the other hand, like to keep it simple. A trimmed tree, our nativity scene, a few carefully placed, tasteful decorations, and a modest display of lights outside. Some may find it boring. I delight in its simplistic elegance. Easy to put up, but, more importantly, a piece of cake to take down.
Luckily, John subscribes to my version of Christmas decorating.
Then, there are the gifts. We are showered with them. When we traveled back home at Christmas when the kids were young, we had to take both cars to lug everything back. Again, I am not exaggerating.
I should be thankful, right? What kind of ingrate doesn't appreciate two trunkfuls of loot at Christmas? Please don't misunderstand. I'm not totally unappreciative. I just don't understand.
As the main gift purchaser on behalf of my family, I comb through stores -- and often the internet -- for the perfect gifts for people. I check out events in the area they might enjoy; I find out their favorite stores and restaurants. I observe things they own and what they wear. And, I listen when they speak to see if I can ascertain any needs or wants. Then, I choose the gift (or perhaps gifts, depending on the cost) judiciously with the recipient in mind.
Not all of my selections have been home runs. My father-in-law has shoved the Johnny Unitas jersey we thought for sure would be proudly displayed in his home office in some cluttered closet. I am sure my mother-in-law has returned some the of Bath and Body Works lotions we have given her.
With that said, I have actually scratched my head at many of the presents I get from them but always do my best to feign excitement and delight as I peel back the paper and open the box. Often, it is a Christmas decoration that I consider tacky, but not offensive. However, one Christmas gift in particular left me utterly dumbfounded.
I do not remember the year; nor can I recall any of the other gifts. My in-laws sat watching me unwrap this particular box, eyes fixed on me like I was about to uncover a hidden treasure. As I opened the package, I had to hold myself back from popping my eyes out of my head and jumping out of my skin. There he was, nestled in a blanket of tissue paper: Jack Frost.
I gently removed the doll, not because I was afraid I would break it, but because the damn thing was freaking me out. With curly red hair and a sparkly blue outfit complete with elf slippers and a hat, the painted-on diabolical smirk on its face made me want to throw it across the room. Luckily, I resisted the urge.
"Do you like him?" asked my father-in-law.
"Yes! It's great!" I exclaimed.
"We were in the Christmas store (yes, the mall there had a store dedicated to anything and everything Christmas), and we just kept coming back to him because he made us think of you," he proudly recalled the story of how this grievous gift came to be.
What? I think for once in my life, I was actually speechless. I looked down at this bendable, creepy ginger, still smirking at me, and thought, "Why on earth would this thing make them think of me?"
Nothing in my house was blue. I didn't have a weird collection of sinister dolls sitting around. I didn't have red hair. I just couldn't -- and still can't -- figure out why they thought I would like it.
Needless to say, I shoved it into one of my Christmas decoration bins, burying it as deep as I could and promptly put it out of my mind until we got the bins out to decorate the following season. When I dug it out, I jumped. Then, I shook my head. I tried to put him on our fake fireplace mantel along with some of my other things, but I couldn't take it after passing it a few times as I left my bedroom early in the morning.
One day, I couldn't take it anymore. I wrapped Jack Frost in tissue and gave him a hasty and improper burial. When the garbage was collected a few days later, I didn't feel even a twinge of guilt.
There was no way I was letting Jack Frost nip at my nose, or anything else for that matter.
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