Awkward Christmas Giving Traditions
By Kerry Soper
(Published in Utah Life Magazine, November 2020)
Like most Americans, Utahns enjoy the typical holiday traditions: listening to the same classic songs on an endless loop; driving around at night to admire overzealous light displays; and watching A Christmas Story (or Elf) for the 52nd time. We may be a bit peculiar, though, in our enthusiasm for organizing well-meaning, but overly complicated gestures of holiday charity that can sometimes go wrong.
For starters, there are the inevitable awkward moments that come from dividing people, in fairly homogeneous communities, into givers and receivers. One of my female friends, who lives in a modest home in Utah Valley, once got a call from a wealthy neighbor who was organizing a Sub for Santa campaign. After my friend eagerly agreed to pitch in, there was a long silence over the phone.
She suddenly realized that the woman wasn’t asking for her help—but instead, for a list of gifts that she and her needy kids might like to receive. My friend was so shocked and embarrassed that she couldn’t stop giggling inappropriately and had to hang up the phone.
One of my former students once saw a dejected-looking homeless man in front of a grocery store several days before Christmas. On a whim, she and her kids decided to brighten his life by purchasing for him a large bag of food. Things got confusing, however, when they tried to present it to him as they exited the store. Turns out he wasn’t actually homeless or dejected—just a grouchy old guy (made even grouchier) who was waiting for his wife to pick him up.
The potential for misunderstanding is also increased when charitable projects become a bit too creative. A family I know in Davis County has a long tradition of “doorbell ditching” on Christmas Eve, leaving unmarked packages of cookies on their neighbors’ front steps. One year they targeted an immigrant family who had recently moved to the United States. After setting the box down on this new family’s doormat and ringing the bell, they ran and hid in the bushes to watch. They were confused, though, when the door just opened a tiny crack and was immediately slammed shut. Five minutes later, a police car arrived with lights flashing. There were some tense moments as they had to explain to the officer why they were crouching in the shrubbery, and that the box actually contained snickerdoodles—not a possible bomb, as had been reported.
Several years ago one of my wife’s friends helped organize a Christmas clothing drive at our local elementary school. Overwhelmed with the number of contributions they’d received, she tried to get things under control by separating out any items that were too old or inappropriate and stuffing them into a large garbage bag that she labeled "REJECTS."
At the end of the event one of her fellow volunteers—an elderly neighbor—couldn’t find the winter coat she’d worn that evening. You can guess where it was eventually, awkwardly, discovered…. (“Hey, who put this beautiful thing in there?!”)
A friend who lives in the avenues in Salt Lake City once led a massive group of twelve-year old girls on a mission to deliver cookies and sing carols in a neighborhood filled with old mansions that had been subdivided into apartments. After crowding into the lobby of one of these ancient buildings, she gradually realized, to her horror, that they’d actually let themselves in to the front hallway of a single-family dwelling.
The elderly couple who lived there were crouched in fear at the top of the stairs, perhaps telling the 911 operator that they were being robbed by a pack of especially bold and weirdly polite preteens.
Finally, I was once in charge of our local church’s “Giving Tree” campaign. For several weeks I carefully documented all of the donations except for one mystery envelope containing a $100 dollar bill that had been handed to my 10 year old daughter. Meanwhile, tons of other contributions had come in, including a giant jar full of loose coins, containing about $100 in dimes, nickels and pennies.
On Christmas Eve, my daughter and I were out delivering the donations. As it got late, we had only one item left to hand out: that unwieldy jar of coins. On a whim, I wondered if maybe the elderly widow who lived in a humble house down the street wouldn't mind getting a “fun” gift like that. (Looking back, I realize that we should have taken it to a bank or run it through one of those Coinstar machines; but I was tired and not thinking clearly.)
So, feeling a little uneasy, I approached her door with my daughter and rang the bell. When the woman answered, I gently placed the oversized jar in her hands and said "Merry Christmas!" She looked confused but gingerly accepted the bulky gift. Without further explanation, we turned and left.
On the drive home my daughter mentioned casually, "Hey dad, remember that unmarked envelope with the $100 in it? It was that lady who gave it to me."
In shock, I pulled over and asked her to clarify what she'd just said: "It was that woman? The one who just received the giant jar of coins?!"
As she nonchalantly confirmed this information, I went into a laughing/crying fit that lasted for several minutes. I realized that I’d just created an absurd variation of the widow's mite parable: God, who apparently has a strange sense of humor, will reward your willingness to share $100 with those in need, by giving you back approximately the same amount, but in a much less convenient form.
Happy Awkward Holidays!
Comments
Post a Comment