The Mother’s Day conversation went like this: “Mom, what do you want for Mother’s Day?”
“Oh nothing,” she said.
Birthdays, Christmas and other celebratory occasions went the same. … “Oh nothing.”
It was like a little game.
As kids, we blundered. My sister and I got Mom by-association presents we figured she would love — because she loved us. Half-glued macaroni art, photos of ourselves, glitter, sequins, beads.
To her credit, Mom grimaced graciously as she unwrapped years of tacky jewelry, gaudy scarves and clothes she would never wear – even if we did happen to get the right size, which we rarely did.
Growing older, we tried to improve upon this by getting her things that advertising told us she would like.
So came the years of slippers, nightgowns, more tacky jewelry, craft supplies she would never use, massage certificates she would never use and activities she didn’t want to do — again, grimacing through gifts designed for somebody else’s mother.
It took us an embarrassingly long time to realize that this game was more like a low-stakes test. I believe my mom was happy and the years of terrible gifts conditioned her not to get her hopes up. Answering “what do you want” with “Oh nothing” was truly accurate: She was happy and wanted for nothing — at least nothing her two idealistically employed children could afford.
My dad, same thing.
Father’s Day, birthdays, Christmas … “Oh nothing … “ though Dad adds a self-pitying warble for laughs, “Well, maybe just a kind word?”
One time he told me, “Socks.” Henceforth, on every occasion, he got socks from me. One time he said, “Golf balls.” Golf balls and socks it is! I tried to go for the sure, boring bet with him.
This went horribly awry once when I added credit to his bar tab at the public golf course where his league plays weekly. My dad thought the bartender had a crush on him, as she was buying his drinks all the time.
So I know when Father’s Day rolls again next week, he won’t be expecting much on the gift-giving front.
And yet who doesn’t love feeling seen? Feeling known?
The right gift does this.
It says, “Others may view you, but I see a part of you that you treasure, and this is who I’m shopping for.”
I don’t have the instinctive gift for the seeing and knowing when it comes to shopping that the truly great gift-givers of the world come by naturally. My grandma. My cousin Meagan. My dad. The best I can do is muddle through.
We finally unlocked the secret to Mother’s Day with beautiful fuchsia hanging baskets and yard work. My mom could sip her beverage and we’d put the yard in order to specification.
With my dad, I’m still looking, but this year I went with some French red wine that a late local author used to gush over. I hope it’s good, or at least better than socks and golf balls.