The Story Of Things: Mom's Christmas Bell Gift

When I was a kid, I got a reputation in my family for not being able to keep a secret. Maybe the story I am about to tell had something to do with it.

It was Christmastime in 1981, and I was six years old and in the first grade. Every year the week before Christmas vacation, my elementary school's PTA would have a fundraiser called the “Santa Shop.” In our school’s gymnasium they would set up several long tables full of very affordable different knick-knacks and do-dads, kind of like a non-grocery item version of the Dollar Store, but before Dollar Stores existed. The idea was to allow us kids an opportunity to do some Christmas shopping of our own for our family and friends. But at a price-point that a kid’s allowance could afford.

I loved the Santa Shop and now realize it may have planted the seeds of my life-long affinity for all things retail. In addition to the thrill of shopping, I also loved the process of thinking about what gift I would buy and how good I would feel giving it. Again, perhaps the foundational beginning of my Love Language: sharing expressions of love through giving gifts.

I think it is safe to assume that when a six-year-old is on a budget of $5 for gifts for her three family members, it is definitely the thought that counts. That year I bought my mom something that I still own today. It is a two-inch white ceramic bell with four different colored balloons on the front. The ringer inside is a small, unfinished ceramic bead, dangling from a piece of bent wire, just to add to its charm. To say it rings efficiently would be an overstatement.

I didn’t care much that it couldn’t ring or it was decorated with random balloons. I loved because I thought for sure my mom would love it. You see, she had a growing collection of bells in our dining room curio cabinet. To this day I’m not exactly sure why she collected them. You didn’t dare ring one to get her attention. I can only assume she enjoyed them because she thought they were pretty, and they connected her to her musical talents as a piano player.

I was so excited to bring home the gifts I had bought at the Santa Shop that day. When I got home I headed straight to my bedroom and unpacked them from my school bag. I asked my mom where the gift wrapping supplies were, and I proceeded to wrap each one as carefully and precisely as my little hands could cut, crease and tape.

As I went to take my newly wrapped gifts out to the living room to put under our tree I saw my mom standing at the stove making dinner.

“Mom! Mom! Mom!” I exclaimed, so excited and proud I could hardly contain myself. “Look at everything I got wrapped for you and Leigh and Dad!”

“Wow! Very nice!” she replied.

Undeterred in my enthusiasm I proceeded to parade each wrapped gift in front of her.

“I got Leigh this stuffed animal. I got Dad a new coffee mug. And here’s your bell.”

Whoops. I knew as soon as the words flew out of my mouth I couldn’t take them back. But I really, really wished I could have.

My heart sank immediately. In my little kid's mind, I knew the mistake I had made but still hadn't quite processed how I let it happen. To my mom's credit, she didn't miss a beat. In that magical way moms have at trying to reassure their children when they mess up (and know it) she said, “Oh, well, those are so nice! Why don't you go put them under the tree and get ready for dinner. It will be done soon.” She acted like she didn’t hear me tell her exactly what her gift was, but we both knew she did.

I want to say this was an isolated incident, but unfortunately, I can’t. Later the following year, I did somewhat the same thing with my dad on his birthday. My mom let me and my sister pick out one gift from each of us that she purchased. I picked a new thermos for him to take his coffee to work in. He was an early riser and a big morning coffee drinker.

I was so excited as we were preparing to give him his gifts, I asked him if he wanted to try and guess what my gift was. With my clues like it’s green, you can take it to work with you, and it will keep your coffee warm, it didn't take Sherlock Holmes to figure out that mystery.

For years my family loved to tease me about these stories. As I got older, my ability to keep my excitement in check and not spoil gift surprises much improved. A little bit of that 6-year-old excited Little Jody still exists inside of me. I’ve just learned to avoid guessing games and keep it simple: shop, wrap and give.

Happy Holidays!