Chattanooga Pulse

Next week marks the start of the busiest retail season of the year—Christmas…and Hanukah. For it is these precious annual holidays during which we bestow our friends and family with the gifts we think they’ll like in exchange for stuff that we hope we’ll like.

Personally, I don’t know why we bother. I know, I know, “giving” is part of the spirit of the season. But why should I have to spend money buying a bunch of stuff for other people that I wouldn’t have bought for myself in hopes that they can read my mind and buy the very thing I would have bought for myself (“That’s just what I wanted—thanks!”)?

Then you realize that what they bought you—which you didn’t really need or want because no one knows what you want or need any better than yourself—cost about a third of what you spent on them. What? So I spent more money on something I didn’t want and gave to someone else than something I really wanted but didn’t get. Bah humbug.

Again, why do we bother? We live in one of the richest countries in the world, where everyone has at least two televisions for every car in their driveway and enough clothes not to have to wear the same combination twice—ever—and we still find it necessary to “need” things all of the time. “I really needed that second car for times when the other car was low on gas.” “My iPod is way too big so I need a smaller one.” “I just can’t live without my new Snuggie.”

My daughter is the hardest to buy for because she’ll never tell you what she wants for Christmas. I’d like to think that she feels the love of her family and the sacrifices we make to provide her with the best life possible is enough of a gift in itself not to have to shower materialistic sundries on her Christmas morning. But that’s likely not the case.

I suspect it’s because she already gets so much stuff throughout the year that by the time Christmas rolls around, she literally can’t think of anything else she might want…or “need.” That certainly wasn’t the case when I was a kid.

Christmas was the only time—except for maybe your birthday—when you could capitalize on the myth of Santa Claus and North Pole elves that just happen to market their wares in the pages of possibly the most profound publication known to children under the age of 18: the Sears Christmas Wish Book.
As soon as it came in the mail, my brother and I would take turns in pre-scheduled installments flipping through its glorious pages marking toys and folding page corners as if we were conducting research for our doctoral dissertation.

Then we’d compare notes in order to make the most of this once-a-year lucrative situation. “I’ll ask for the Stretch Armstrong and you ask for the Snoopy Sno-Cone Machine. Then we’ll take the rest in GI Joe adventure gear and Legos.”

For months we’d carefully put together a strategic plan that included procurement of only the finest, most fun-filled, time-consuming items every consummate toy box should include.

We were always careful to make the most of “Santa’s” budget instead of squandering the entire nut on one expensive item (such as a new bike) that we might be able to guilt the necessary parties into purchasing during some rogue period at another time of year.

When the final list was complete, it was checked, double-checked—even triple-checked—to ensure it included everything we’d agreed upon. Then we’d carefully fold it and place it in an envelope that was addressed in unmistakable penmanship and finished off with at least three postage stamps (to ensure sufficient funds for North Pole delivery).

And, after it was all said and done, we’d visit JC Penney’s and buy dad an ugly tie, and mom some God-awful perfume that she neither wanted nor needed but pretended to love just the same. Happy Holidays.