Gift receipts of the Magi
I just bought a new toaster. The old one just sort of quit making toast.
No, it’s not like this was some sort of significant domestic crisis. Life goes on quite well even with imperfectly toasted bread and the appliance-grown-crotchety had earned its place on the kitchen counter for 25 years or better … a quarter century of toast making is hardly a thing to complain about and, like I said, a toaster is no big deal in the first place.
So, when in the course of doing some other big box errands I spotted a replacement for my malfunctioning Sunbeam I added the carton to my shopping cart, content that 20 bucks later it would be mine.
I hardly gave it a thought until the fresh-faced checker-outer asked if I wanted a separate gift receipt for that.
For a toaster? For a cheap toaster, at that?
Then the piped in strains of “Silver Bells” hit my ears and the glittered trappings of the season came into focus.
No, although Christmas is coming and the goose is getting fat, this particular toaster was bound for my very own counter that very evening rather than spending the following fortnight wrapped and tinseled in the polyvinyl chloride shadow of an ersatz pine tree.
Halfway across the parking lot I realized that foresight, patience, and a bit more conventional attitude could have saved me that double sawbuck. Next time somebody asked, “What do you want for Christmas?” I could have answered, “A toaster.”
A Black & Decker Model TR1278B, to be exact – color optional.
That’s what’s sitting on my counter. I must have wanted it.
I just never connected it with Christmas.
Quite frankly, I’m not sure how small kitchen appliances became intertwined with the Christianized observation of the Winter Solstice, but then, from Halloween ‘till Santa’s due on the rooftops, everything from shelf stable sausages to scandalously skimpy lingerie is tagged with a sprig of holly and declared “a great gift!”
I dunno about that…
Maybe it’s because I went to school before Consumer Education was included in the curriculum, but it’s been quite a while since I’ve been very comfortable asking to be given stuff for Christmas. I’ll give a bye to anyone still believing in a magical Santa, and a pass to the jobless, penniless 10-year-olds hitting up Mom and Dad with requests that wouldn’t warrant a hearing any other time of the year, But what toddlers and 10-year-olds long to see under the tree isn’t likely to be the set of Corelle dinnerware or faux mink steering wheel cover prominently featured in the latest holiday sale flyer.
I realize I may be teetering on the brink of curmudgeonhood here, but isn’t there a point where – as reasonable grown-ups -- we look at each other with a recognition that we’re not wanting for stuff. That most of us have stuff coming out of our ears, our attics, our basements, our garages and rented storage units. We have stuff stuffed in cupboards, in drawers and dressers. Our closets are stuffed with stuff. There’s stuff stuffed under every bed, on shelves too high to reach, under cabinets too low to get to. And here we are, on the brink of the solstice, poised and waiting to deluge each other with ever more stuff.
As if we need … as if we want … as if we have a place for … more stuff.
According to Christian tradition, this present custom arose in commemoration and emulation of the Magi bringing gifts to the Christ child and his parents.
We might take note that those gifts were given by those who had much to those who had all but nothing. Given to a family the givers had never before seen and never would see again. Given with no expectation that anything would be given in return.
I doubt if they included gift receipts.