The Mark
It never fails. Birthdays. Christmas. Something strikes my fancy. It feels perfect for the intended. I buy it. I wrap it. But inevitably, along the way, from buying through wrapping and even giving, doubt sets in. The brilliance of the gift, it’s perfectness, fades. As I give the gift, I feel as though I have gifted someone with a lump of coal. It will be greeted with the perfect holiday smile and instantly forgotten.
For instance, in fifty years of marriage, birthdays and Christmas, I think the only perfect gift I ever gave my late wife was a trip to Hawaii. Everything else was simply variations on a theme, pottery, jewelry, nick-nacks. Most ended up cluttering our house or her closet. Luckily, she liked jewelry, even costume jewelry, so that probably worked to some degree. But I think most presents missed their mark, at least slightly.
In the end, however, it’s most likely that it’s the giving that counts, the making of the effort. But I wish I had been better and less repetitious. I wish I had taken more time, listened more closely, understood her desires more deeply. Was it a failure on my part? Probably. But in the end, it worked out and now I’m trying to pay the lesson forward with my children and with my friends with varying degrees of success. Because as I think about this year’s presents there’s still the nagging thought that somehow, I’ve missed the mark again.