Does opening a gift cause anxiety, shortness of breath and palpitations? “This is lovely” could be a little white lie. Molly’s CEO husband, Bill, always included her on his clients’ Christmas list. After receiving one fruit basket too many Molly told Bill the exact color, size, price, aisle and bar code of the robe she wanted from Lord and Taylors. On Christmas morning as Molly eagerly opened the big box, she thought, “It has to be the robe.“ Instead the gift was a four level condominium bird feeder. Bill, like many people, just didn’t get it.

When my son, Greg, was sixteen he wisely stated, “Girls like gifts that sparkle, smell pretty and feel fuzzy. Greg bought me fuzzy red velvet slippers for Christmas with his first paycheck. They were so special I kept them for twenty years.

Last year on Christmas Day, Mary, a refugee Sudanese mother of nine sons was reunited with her son, Emmanuel, in Trenton. What a surprise and honor to meet her! Mary spoke Arabic, had a beautiful Pepsodent smile, smooth skin and shiny hair. For three years she had lived in tents in Egypt and Sudan. Mary proudly presented me with the gift of two hand-etched plagues. Emmanuel explained his mother had to bargain for two different designs: the Sphinx and the Pharaoh. Also, the hooks on the back were welded especially for me so I could hang the plaques on the wall.

Years ago and throughout his life my Dad was truly infected with a contagious Christmas Spirit. He generously gave gifts and rejoiced in the birth of his Savior. He was a decorating maniac; the glitzier the better. Dad loved blinking stars, marching soldiers, singing chipmunks with Rudolph’s red nose flashing and bells jingling on all the doorknobs.

Our Nativity scene displayed 12 sheep with fur, 11 shepherds, 10 camels, four Wiseman, two drummer boys and a kneeling Santa Claus. An angel dressed in a white satin gown lifted her magic wand towards Heaven and reined majestically on top of the tree. After Dad plugged in the lights, pulled the switches and wound up all the music boxes the inside and outside of our apartment performed Swan Lake, the Alleluia Chorus and the Nutcracker Suite simultaneously.

When I was six Dad surprised his family with a perfect gift. On Christmas Eve during a blizzard with zero visibility Dad came home from work late. Mom loved Dad but she yelled when she was worried so I heard: “Where the hell is your father? Dinner is getting cold. Carole, go out on the porch and check.” I stepped out into the two feet of snow illuminated by the moonlight. I squinted but only saw the large white snowflakes surfing the howling wind. “Did you see him?” Mom yelled. “Where the hell is he? Dinner is getting cold.”

The sixth time out on the porch I recognized a swaying white snowman approaching pulling something behind him. “Mom, he’s coming,” I hollered. “Ho! Ho! Ho!” Dad chanted while jingling the bells on the front door. “Carole tell him to shake off the snow.” Mom ordered. “I don’t want water tracked up here.” Dad stomped his feet, removed his hat, gloves and coat then dragged a heavy bundle up the steps. “Ho! Ho! Ho! Merry Christmas!” he joyfully sang with a big Cheshire smile on his face. Dad plopped the bundle upright then cut the rope. Ohh, it was the first time I ever saw a totally white Christmas tree! How beautiful and perfect! Dad primed cars by hand all day in a cold, cement bay at the Star Garage. After work, he sprayed the tree white and then waited until the paint dried. Our tree was the talk of the town! Dad died several years ago but the memory of his perfect gift is still alive.

The gifts from Greg, Mary and my Dad will always be on my favorite list.

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