MARY ANN FITZMORRIS / L’Observateur / October 11, 1999

While I was at a friend’s house the other day, she began to dig in a closet.

She stumbled upon a mysterious bag which contained a cache of unused birthday gifts. It was the only such bag in her closet, unlike another friendof mine, who has an entire attic of unclaimed birthday gifts.

Evidently both women subscribe to the same gift-giving philosophy as my sister. Once I asked her how she selected a gift, and she replied, “Dependson what I have in stock.”I wish I could be so cavalier about birthday presents. Gift-giving has beena constant source of neurosis for me. I am always worried about whetheror not I have spent enough, so for a time I delegated this task to my husband. Immediately I began to worry about having spent too much.His tenure as birthday gift shopper was short-lived. After a number ofunexplained extravagances, I fired him after he spent $25 on a Play-Doh grape squashing game for a kid whose last name we couldn’t recall.

I was now adrift in a sea of endless gift opportunities; row after row of beautifully recycled plastic, stacks of kits whose finished masterpieces someone would have to find a place for. After receiving our share of magiccrystal kits to grow (WARNING! TOXIC! ADULT SUPERVISION REQUIRED), I was finally pushed over the edge by the fake aquarium with plastic sea life and magic jelly that I stumbled over every night on the way to the bathroom.

It was then The Shirt Phase began. My son received an unremarkable T-shirt at the same birthday party that yielded the aquarium. It was foundthe next morning under a pile of birthday wrapper detritus. That was anomen, but I ignored it.

Pretty soon my son was wearing it often. I began to see what a useful giftit was, so, following the example of my warehousing friends, I began to stockpile 100 percent cotton tees whenever they went on sale.

Mom’s puzzled looks and the birthday boy’s obvious disappointment nearly drove me into therapy, although I couldn’t stop thinking that they were missing the salient point: useful. . . useful.There are still a few in the closet, since the T-shirts-as-gifts period ended shortly after it started. One day my son announced that he wouldprobably stop being invited to parties if we kept giving these “crummy gifts.””What, are you crazy? They’re so useful!” I protested lamely. He wasunconvinced. “All right,” I continued, “Next time you choose the gift.”They probably never believed it anyway, but not long ago I wish I had stuck to the transfer of power making my kids sole gift shoppers.

My daughter wanted to get a friend exactly what she had just been given; a binder with sticker pages. The birthday girl is never left behind intrends, so I was totally convinced that the young lady already had the binder. I wouldn’t let my daughter buy the binder, so we, er, I, chose theuseful route and bought the child six pages of stickers. It was $14, so I’dspent enough, but it turned out this was one trend they missed. The childhad sticker pages and no binder. My daughter was embarrassed. “You knowmom, I’m going to stop being invited to parties if I keep giving these crummy gifts.” Such birthday gift agony is common. Right before my son’s birthday, afriend of mine saw a good sale at the Gap. A lone pair of bug print PJ’swere too cute to pass up, although they were way too small for her son.

She thought of mine, and the bargain hunter in her was satisfied.

Her son was not. “What?”he asked incredulously. “You can’t give clothes toa guy for a birthday gift! I’m going to stop being invited to parties if I give crummy gifts like this!” My son got the PJ’s, plus a “suitable” gift.

It was much too good for us. A few years ago, we gave her son a Hard RockT-shirt we won as a prize. Gee, now that I remember, I have to go lookfor those. Guys my son’s age are just growing into them now!

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