Sunday, December 25, 2011
“Dad, I’m too old for Santa.” That’s what my daughter tells me. It is quite a change from last year. She was a believer back then; a true believer. Back then she made certain that Santa’s milk and cookies were carefully placed on the kitchen countertop before her bedtime. She even left a note wishing him a safe trip back to the North Pole. What a difference a year makes in a young girl’s life.
She celebrated her 11th birthday this year. She pretends that she has reached a milestone; as if she’s been bestowed with the wisdom of the world. Sometimes I don’t doubt it. “And dad, don’t worry about toys this year either,” she says matter-of-factly, “I’ve outgrown those too.” Little girls sure grow up awfully fast these days. I make a mental note to amend my shopping list for her. And, I try to recollect where I placed the receipts for the items that I have already purchased.
“Well, what would you like under the tree this year, Bridget?” I ask.
Sisterhood
“Mom knows what I need, dad,” she says dismissively. “I’ve already talked with her.” She speaks with a tone that implies that only a woman could possibly understand her wants and needs now. I’ve seen this before. She has two older sisters.
In fairness, she’s probably right. I recall the one Christmas long ago when I purchased a green woolen jumpsuit for my eldest daughter, Brittany. She was just a little girl then. I found it in an Irish gift shop. I bought it on sale. The sign read “No returns, all sales final.” I was convinced it was a bargain. It came with an emerald green turtleneck and had straps that buckled over the shoulders. The pant legs were cut to fit baggy and ballooned outward from the ankle all the way up through the seat. I thought it would look rather nice on her. In fact, I was quite proud of my purchase. Warmth and comfort, how could I go wrong?
My wife had her doubts when I showed it to her. “What on earth would possess you to purchase a thing like that?” she asked. I insisted that it be wrapped and placed under the Christmas tree. I wrote the tag for the present myself. It said, “To Brittany, love Santa.” I waited anxiously for her to open that gift on Christmas morning. My wife’s doubts were confirmed. I still can recall the blank look on my daughter’s face as the present was unwrapped. I let Santa take the blame for that blunder. Sorry Santa. That jumpsuit hung in the upstairs closet for seven years. I don’t now what happened to it after that. To this day I still can’t get a straight answer from my girls about where it went, my wife included.
Chauffeur
So, this Christmas, I’ll leave the shopping for the girls in the capable hands of my wife. I’ll be content to serve as their chauffeur as they make their way to the local department stores. There’s a chair outside the fitting room at Macy’s with which I am well acquainted. I’ll bring a newspaper and catch up on my reading while the girls fuss over their Christmas outfits. Maybe I’ll even find something nice for the wife there. Come to think of it, there is that trendy women’s outfit that I spotted last week that has just gone on sale. I’m sure it’s everything that she’s been looking for this year. I’ll ask the sales associate for her help. How could I go wrong?
On second thought, I’d better keep the receipt.
Have a Merry Christmas.
David Bobovnyik, a Youngstown native and lawyer who works for the state of Ohio, writes from time to time, especially around the holidays.