We are old.
Giving gifts has always meant a lot to me. I was raised in a household that valued gifts, valued “things” actually. At Christmas time, the base of our tree would be piled hiiiigh with presents wrapped in brightly colored paper tied with neatly curled ribbons.
Birthdays would mean being spoiled by more gifts.
Even Valentine’s Day came with a present.
So, without being overtly taught, I learned that love was
shown by giving something tangible.
As I became an adult, I noticed people older than me asking for
things for the holidays that I thought were silly – cheese, wine, nuts… “Those aren’t PRESENTS,” I remember thinking.
“Presents are touchable, physical things – things to be KEPT, not to be
consumed.”
So, when I found my life partner, I showered him with
GIFTS. Gifts wrapped just as I had been
subconsciously taught must be wrapped in beautiful paper, tied tight with a
bow.
But it didn’t take long for me to notice that my love and I had
a peculiar habit… We bought each other gifts. We wrapped them and tied them. We presented them to one another lovingly.
But we did not open them.
Instead, we set them neatly aside. We smiled as we saw them – day after day –
knowing that inside each box was a treasure.
Yet we didn’t open them.
As the next holiday approached, the now “mature” gifts were
moved into another room. New presents
appeared.
Which were not opened.
Bit by bit, slowly, slowly, the pile of unopened gifts
grew. Each season a different color
wrapping paper. Some missing name cards –
was it for him or for me? I smiled at
the absurdity.
And now, now we are old.
The wrapped gifts are dusty.
Inside are carefully chosen delights – never revealed to the
recipient. The giver has long since forgotten
what is inside. They are magic. They are mystery.
Many are likely sizes too small – sweaters and bras and
pants fit for our younger bodies.
Many are likely moldy and hard – chocolate bars and dried
fruits ripened by years of anticipation.
This year we did not shop for one another. “I must confess,” I whispered in the grocery
store recently, on the verge of tears, “I didn’t get you a present this year. It doesn’t mean I love you less…” I
stammered, speaking aloud my fear.
He held me tight. I
was his present.
We are old.
Our values are now our own.
Perhaps this year we will take a gift off the pile. We may blow away the dust and reveal what’s
inside.
We are old. And we
are happy.
Comments