Last week a small child, who I later found out was the granddaughter of a fellow employee, saw me at the front of the building. Then she took off running in the opposite direction.
I had to laugh. And I understood. It’s easy for a small child, even an adult, to get distracted in our lobby these days. There’s a 7-foot Christmas tree up there, lit when we remember to plug it in, with dozens of unwrapped toys beneath it.
The toys aren’t for us, although there’s a dog grooming starter kit for children under the tree that has caught my fancy. The Free Press is continuing the tradition it has had for years, partnering with the Salvation Army and being a drop-off site for toys for its annual Christmas campaign.
It sounds like an overused phrase, but the toys really do go to families that wouldn’t have anything otherwise. You should donate, if you’re able. The biggest need is always for gifts for older teenagers who can be harder to shop for.
I was lucky. I can’t remember a time growing up when there wasn’t an overabundance of items under our tree. In fact, I was well into adulthood before I realized my family was decidedly middle class and not better off. My parents really did spend the majority of their time making sure my brother and I had everything we needed, and then some.
The first gift I ever officially asked Santa for was a Speak and Spell. This story prompted one of my Georgia friends to joke one year, “You’ve always been a writer! You asked Santa for a spell-check!” Santa managed to deliver on that item, which I don’t even have anymore. I do still have the photo of me sitting on Santa’s lap at one of the shopping centers in town where I made the request.
The second most memorable gift I got would have to be a Cabbage Patch doll. I was probably 11 or 12 and it was my second. I actually already had one of the coveted dolls. Those old enough to remember know that when Cabbage Patch dolls came out remember, they were hotter than Elmo and Beiber and One Direction tickets combined. My name was on a waiting list all over town, and I tried to contain my jealousy as all the other girls in my dance class brought their dolls to class and lined them up along the wall to watch us practice.
(No, not creepy at all, that.)
Finally one day, my family got the call. Kmart had a few of the dolls, but come right away. Dad and I hopped in the van to make the trip to town. Whoever else got the call had a 20-minute head start on me, since we lived out in the county.
To my surprise, Dad pulled up to the outside of the store and said, “Well, go on in.”
He was sending me into the fray alone.
Luckily it was just me and a few blue-haired old ladies looking over the scant supply of dolls in stock and I was able to secure one without incident. She was joined by her “sister,” my Christmas present, a few months later, and later still by a third doll my mother won in a raffle.
I still have those dolls, but the kind of Christmas gifts I covet these days aren’t the kind to easily fit in a package under a tree. Or in any package. It’s the intangible things that get more important as you get older, I am discovering.
I do have an update on my quest for a tree, however. A lovely gentleman called me last week and offered me a 7-foot Fraser fir, for free. He was either going to give it to me or take it to the Salvation Army. I thanked him for the offer and told him the Salvation Army would probably get better use out of the tree since I’m not even sure it would fit in my apartment.
He did offer to cut it down for me, but I still declined.
The next day, however, a 2-foot metallic pink Christmas tree arrived in a box in the mail. My Georgia landlady, who’d brought me a tree last year, sent it as a surprise.
It fits perfectly on an end table situated below my front window, and even though it’s tangible, it reminds me of those “intangibles” I’m more thankful for every year.
Jennifer Shrader is the managing editor of The Free Press; her column appears in this space every Friday. You can reach her at 252-559-1079 or at Jennifer.Shrader@Kinston.com. Follow her on Twitter at jenjshrader.