The Most Funderful Time of the Year
I was raised like a hyena by King Al and his consort, who broke the world record for silhouette shooting when I was six. (An impressionable six, because I clearly remember two older gentlemen walking past my mom and muttering loud-on-purpose, "Goddamned women should stay in the kitchen where they belong." Best. Memory. EVER. Jam it high and wide, old guys. I'm saying it, because my mother never would. She has class. Unlike you two classes assholes. How about THAT?)
Now where...right, raised by a hyena and a sharpshooter. We didn't have much money when I was little, but there were always gifts under the tree. Christmas was always wonderful, and occasionally weird. And my folks liked to mix it up a little, too. (Weird, huh? Because we were so normal in every other way. Hee!)
One year we were all given the same amount of money to spend...on ourselves. We shopped and bought our own gifts, and wrapped them, and couldn't tell anybody what we'd bought ourselves. Then on Christmas Day, we opened our gifts and showed the others what we'd gotten...ourselves! It was the opposite of Christmas...it was Bizarro Christmas! And super cool, besides.
This year, in a futile attempt to teach our children the value of a dollar, and to count their blessings, and to not be dead inside, we put a price limit on gifts. A hundred bucks. They took it pretty well: "Wow. Okay, Mom, if that's the rule. So no single gift can cost more than a hundred dollars. It'll be tough...but we'll deal." (That's when it occurred to me that we might be a few years late on that whole "value of a dollar" thing.)
"No," I explained, "we're not spending more than a hundred bucks PER. As in, the total amount I will spend on your unworthy butts will be a hundred bucks. Which, by the way, when I was your age? Was a FORTUNE. For a lot of people it still is. So you should strike every item on your list that costs more than a hundred bucks. And maybe ask for...I dunno...pencils? Maybe a book on crosswords. We could get you a LOT of crossword puzzle books for a hundred bucks."
My kids exchanged bemused (or was it dismayed?) glances. "That goes for you and Dad, too?"
"Yup."
"How about a hundred spatulas?"
"You can never have too many spatulas," I agreed.
So Saturday should be interesting. Which is the whole point, really. (Yes! The point of Christmas isn't charity, forgiveness, generosity, or spirituality. It's to be interesting. Hallelujah!)
But for me, incorporating these truths is mostly a re-run. I had a pretty good idea of the value of a dollar when I was helping put food on my family's table at age 12 (ammunition is suprisingly cheap!). And this year I had three books out: UNDEAD AND UNFINISHED, ME MSYELF AND WHY, and RISE OF THE POISON MOON. So I spent much of the year doing PR: radio interviews, TV interviews, book tours for both hardcovers, newspapers, attending conferences, giving speeches, talking to magazine editors...all sorts of people all over the country wanted to talk to me about my books. And some of them even wanted to read them!
Value of a buck? Check. Not taking enormous good fortune for granted? You bet. My assistant, Tracy, and my sister, Yvonne, have both promised to stick a gun in my ear if I ever take contracts, sales, or royalties for granted.
So while my kids might have their doubts about weirdly arbitrary gift limits, and my parents will solemnly promise to stick to said limits and then cheerfully overspend (I'll grant you, ignoring parental guidelines are a grandparent's perogative), and I'll wonder how many spatulas my kids can jam into my stocking, the message behind the message remains the same: Christmas is wonderful, and it doesn't have a damn thing to do with whatever's under the tree.
Not that I'd insist on returning, say, something from Jo Malone. But it could be a can of OFF, and I'd still count my blessings.
My hope for all of you: to be with the ones you love, as long as you can, this holiday season.
Now where...right, raised by a hyena and a sharpshooter. We didn't have much money when I was little, but there were always gifts under the tree. Christmas was always wonderful, and occasionally weird. And my folks liked to mix it up a little, too. (Weird, huh? Because we were so normal in every other way. Hee!)
One year we were all given the same amount of money to spend...on ourselves. We shopped and bought our own gifts, and wrapped them, and couldn't tell anybody what we'd bought ourselves. Then on Christmas Day, we opened our gifts and showed the others what we'd gotten...ourselves! It was the opposite of Christmas...it was Bizarro Christmas! And super cool, besides.
This year, in a futile attempt to teach our children the value of a dollar, and to count their blessings, and to not be dead inside, we put a price limit on gifts. A hundred bucks. They took it pretty well: "Wow. Okay, Mom, if that's the rule. So no single gift can cost more than a hundred dollars. It'll be tough...but we'll deal." (That's when it occurred to me that we might be a few years late on that whole "value of a dollar" thing.)
"No," I explained, "we're not spending more than a hundred bucks PER. As in, the total amount I will spend on your unworthy butts will be a hundred bucks. Which, by the way, when I was your age? Was a FORTUNE. For a lot of people it still is. So you should strike every item on your list that costs more than a hundred bucks. And maybe ask for...I dunno...pencils? Maybe a book on crosswords. We could get you a LOT of crossword puzzle books for a hundred bucks."
My kids exchanged bemused (or was it dismayed?) glances. "That goes for you and Dad, too?"
"Yup."
"How about a hundred spatulas?"
"You can never have too many spatulas," I agreed.
So Saturday should be interesting. Which is the whole point, really. (Yes! The point of Christmas isn't charity, forgiveness, generosity, or spirituality. It's to be interesting. Hallelujah!)
But for me, incorporating these truths is mostly a re-run. I had a pretty good idea of the value of a dollar when I was helping put food on my family's table at age 12 (ammunition is suprisingly cheap!). And this year I had three books out: UNDEAD AND UNFINISHED, ME MSYELF AND WHY, and RISE OF THE POISON MOON. So I spent much of the year doing PR: radio interviews, TV interviews, book tours for both hardcovers, newspapers, attending conferences, giving speeches, talking to magazine editors...all sorts of people all over the country wanted to talk to me about my books. And some of them even wanted to read them!
Value of a buck? Check. Not taking enormous good fortune for granted? You bet. My assistant, Tracy, and my sister, Yvonne, have both promised to stick a gun in my ear if I ever take contracts, sales, or royalties for granted.
So while my kids might have their doubts about weirdly arbitrary gift limits, and my parents will solemnly promise to stick to said limits and then cheerfully overspend (I'll grant you, ignoring parental guidelines are a grandparent's perogative), and I'll wonder how many spatulas my kids can jam into my stocking, the message behind the message remains the same: Christmas is wonderful, and it doesn't have a damn thing to do with whatever's under the tree.
Not that I'd insist on returning, say, something from Jo Malone. But it could be a can of OFF, and I'd still count my blessings.
My hope for all of you: to be with the ones you love, as long as you can, this holiday season.
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The first part of your story brought back so many memories. I grew up in Nebraska in the 50's and 60's. I remember my allowance as a child (when dad could afford to give an allowance) was ten cents a week on Saturday morning. I could buy 2 5 cent cola's or 2 hershey bars or something at the 5&Dime. A lot of our Christmas gifts where clothes sewn my Mom or grandmom would crochet (she was in a wheelchair due to a fall and spent hours crocheting - my best ever gift was a white bedspread with 3D roses which I still have) or something made from wood by my Dad, he was a master woodworker too. One year we had a complete set of handmade domino's in a absolutely beautiful handmade wooden box. (wish it didn't get destroyed, would be so nice to still have). Christmas dinner would be chickens we had raised special..mom would always cook 3...no fighting necessary then (five kids) over who got a drumstick! And the left over meat would be sandwiches for Dad at work, and soups etc for kids who insisted on playing in the snow.
I also understand about being less then rich and hunting for your own food. My dad grew up doing that to put food on his family's table during the depression, by necessity he as a brilliant fisherman and hunter. It was not unusual for him to make a family outing and take all of us to go with him to a local river while he caught catfish. 2ea 20to30lb-ers was several meals for a family with 5 kids. He would always catch a bunch of them, and give the extras to friends. I also remember many a rabbit or squirrel stew. He would joke that if they wanted to eat our garden...Memories. I wish he hadn't died when I was 14 just as I was considered old enough to apprentice under him in his woodshop. It would have been fun to have learned his skills, they where/are so valuable.