It happens every year, right about the time the
first snow sticks to the sidewalk and the radio starts crooning about chestnuts
roasting on open fires. The Great Gift-Giving Debate begins
anew. Should gifts be thoughtful or practical? Homemade or store-bought?
Wrapped in elegance or entangled in three feet of tape and one questionable
bow?
For some of us, the joy of giving is as natural as
breathing. We see something in July that shouts, “This would be perfect
for Margaret!” and tuck it away for December. Others… well, we wander
the aisles on December 23rd hoping inspiration will leap out somewhere between
the candles and the socks. Both approaches have their charm—and both come with
their own brand of holiday drama.
There’s a certain kind of humor in watching
ourselves wrestle with the meaning of a “perfect gift.” We tell ourselves it
should say something about how much we care. But then we remember that nothing
says love quite like a warm pair of slippers, a tin of shortbread, or a
flashlight that actually works when the power goes out.
Now, let’s talk about the real holiday test of
character: wrapping. There are two kinds of people in the world, those who can
fold, crease, and tape with surgical precision, and those who look at a roll of
paper and think, “Maybe I should just let the store do it.”
Last year, I decided to take the professional
route. It seemed sensible. I handed over my gifts to a department store clerk
who swore she had a “system.” I returned an hour later to find my presents
looking like they’d been auditioning for a glossy magazine shoot. Each corner
crisp, each bow perfectly puffed. I should have been delighted. But instead, I
felt… cheated.
The problem was, they didn’t look like me.
My usual wrapping jobs tell a story, of late-night determination, too few
scissors, and tape that somehow ends up on my sleeve. There’s something
comforting about the slightly lopsided bow or the patch of newspaper used in
desperation. It’s evidence that I cared enough to try.
So this year, I decided to go back to my roots. I
put on some music (Bing Crosby, naturally), made myself a cup of cocoa, and
surrounded myself with a battlefield of paper, tape, and ribbon. The results? A
few minor casualties, one roll of paper that tore at the last second, and a
ribbon that refused to cooperate, but when I finally looked around, the chaos
made me smile. Each gift looked like it had been wrapped with love… and a dash
of comedy.
The thing is, no one really remembers the wrapping.
They remember the moment. The laughter. The story that gets told every year
about the time you used duct tape because you ran out of Scotch tape. The joy
isn’t in perfection, it’s in the giving itself, and in knowing that your
effort, however humble, is part of the magic.
A thoughtful gift doesn’t need to cost much or
sparkle under the tree. Sometimes, it’s a batch of cookies shared with a
neighbor, a scarf you knitted during cozy evenings, or a simple letter that
says, “You matter to me.”
Being around others, helping where we can, and
sharing our laughter, that’s the real wrapping paper of the season. The gifts
we give from the heart are the ones that keep unwrapping themselves, long after
the ribbons are gone.
So, whether you’re the type who measures your corners with a ruler or the type who hides the odd wrinkle under extra ribbon, take heart. Every gift you give carries your unique touch. And who knows? That might just be the best gift of all.
