It’s Christmas morning. Lights in windows, hot cocoa brewing, and a silent world outside. 

My college-age daughter looks at me with fire in her eyes—not bright with joy but brimming with tears. She cries out, “This is terrible! I never want to do it again!”  Her sister says, “I hate this, and I feel awful!” 

Yes, they were talking about that year’s holiday celebration. Or rather, the lack of it.

We were in an awkward phase—or several of them. My daughters were all in college, in that liminal space where we weren’t living under the same roof, but they craved the comforts of home. But our home wasn’t accessible anymore since I had recently sold it. We couldn’t return to the house where we had so many holiday memories. 

They were on the edge of adulthood: old enough to figure out school scholarships and car insurance but young enough to hope for a little miracle in Christmas Morning Gifts.

I was also experiencing a few awkward phases. My current business had launched but was not yet stable. I was also experimenting with whether my daughters were old enough for me to finally follow my Grinchiest tendencies: could I avoid giving gifts altogether?

Earlier in December, I suggested we do something different for our holiday season. Surely, I thought, my girls were old enough to understand that I couldn’t keep fulfilling all their hopes and dreams like I tried to when they were little. 

I had sagaciously explained to them that we could keep this special time of year in our hearts without the trappings of capitalistic gifts. We could create our own simple, humble rituals to feel the deep quiet of solstice. Maybe we could just go on a nice walk with some special mugs of tea? (An activity that I suggest all the time. Through any season. For any reason.)

So, without a tree, no wrapped presents, no music, and a lack of warm kitchen smells, my girl’s sadness and frustration flooded all of us.  

Experiment answered. Whatever complicated feelings I had about the holiday and whatever simplicity I craved, sustaining the tradition of giving gifts was important in these relationships.

 

To work my way from my most Grinchy year to a holiday that feels good for everyone, I’ve realized that gifts are meaningful because they tell a story. 

Our brain makes sense of the world through stories, and we tell stories all the time, whether we want to or not. 

Through my non-present Christmas, I tried to tell the story that “Our relationship is strong enough that we can find delight in the natural, quiet world and in each other beyond traditions and gifts.” 

But the story my daughters heard was, “I don’t see or care enough about you to have gone through the effort of buying a gift. I don’t want to continue the traditions and rituals that brought us joy for years.”

Since that holiday low point, I’ve thought a lot about gifts and listened to my daughter’s thoughts about why gifts are vital to them. 

Here are a dozen categories of stories we tell through our gifts, with examples of when that gift was a hit and when, despite best efforts and intentions, it was a miss. Our stories through gifts can be memorable, inspiring, shocking, or even humorous. 

 

Twelve Stories of Gifting, Through holidays and beyond

 

1. Aspirational: “Here’s who I see you could become.”

• Hit: When my youngest daughter was a toddler, it was clear she was fascinated by bodies, what was inside, and how they worked. She received a picture book about human body systems, which was the size of her torso. She carried it around obsessively and later referenced this book in her medical school application. 
• Miss: For many years after my mom got married but before she had children, she and my dad tried, failed, and yearned to get pregnant, worrying they might not be able to. Her mother gave her baby clothes on birthdays, holidays, and Mother’s Day.

 

2. Celebratory: “I acknowledge your success.” 

• Hit: My oldest daughter was quite the clothes designer and seamstress in high school, even hosting her own fashion show that was featured in an article in the newspaper. Her dad gave her roses that evening, and she dried them with care and kept them on her wall for years.
• Miss: During my undergraduate education studying cello performance, I received many CDs of cello concertos, partially in response to and celebration of my success in receiving a full-ride scholarship. In reality, I was conflicted about the experience, wishing to broaden my studies into science and psychology while feeling frustrated by my lackluster performances. Instead of feeling joy in the music, each CD created a story in my head of how I fell short. 

 

3. Reflective: “I see the unique person you are.”

• Hit: Last year, at a gathering of local makers and crafters near my home, there was a plethora of beeswax candles in shapes I had never seen before: birds, trees, heads, stars, boots, etc. I chose a different one for each of my girls based on their unique traits, styles, and hobbies. We gathered on a video call for them to open things, and their eyes lit up as I described why I chose each gift, particularly for them. As I’ve visited them this year, I see the candles displayed with their other cherished objects. (I’m slowly working my way back from Grinch status.)
• Miss: Many years ago, when I was in the orchestra pit of a musical theater production, I saw that many musicians bought the conductor parting gifts. I thought about his humor and a few of his self-deprecating jokes about his age. The look of shock and dismay on his face when he opened my gift of “Old Ass Soak” told me this was a miss. I never got called back to that gig. 

 

4. Delightful: “I want us to laugh together.”

• Hit: My parent’s Christmas morning tradition was to have us all close our eyes and walk us to various spots in the living room, where we would then all together open our eyes. Being the oldest, I went last. My dad walked me across the room, picked me up, and gently tossed me out into the air… to land on the largest, softest, poofy bean-bag chair I had ever seen. We all laughed at that moment of surprise and later had years of fun climbing on, flipping over, and curling into that very ’70s piece of furniture. 
• Miss: Our dad was particularly difficult to buy presents for, and my brother tried to capture the joy my dad felt at hiking in the desert, feeling awe at nature. My brother thought hard for months and settled on a glass-encased hissing rattlesnake head. Dad was confused, maybe a bit startled, and quickly set it aside with a terse, “Um… thanks.” My brother’s hopes of gasps of awe at this cool object were dashed. 

 

5. Sensory:  “I want you to have a great experience in the world.”

• Hit: The girl’s birthdays when I gave points, cash, or tickets for travel. I then got to hear their delight during their experiences and hear about their adventures after.
• Miss: Three times, I gave my sister and her husband gift certificates to my favorite yoga studios. I personally loved the feeling of my classes, and I wanted to share that feeling with them. I didn’t take into account the driving time, the childcare needed, and the time away from activities they had already chosen and loved. They kindly thanked me each time but never went. I never picked up on this and kept giving them this “gift.” (3x!)

 

6. Checklist: “I listen to your needs and respond to them.”

• Hit: When my daughter was a tween, she went with her dad to shop for new school shoes. While at the store, she saw a pair of beautiful flats with velvet ribbon trim and a bow. They captured her heart. It wasn’t a day for fancy shoes, so she walked away with practical sneakers. Three months later, on her birthday, she opened a box from him with the exact shoes: the right color, the right style, and the right size. She recalls it being one of the happiest birthday gifts ever. 
• Miss: “Now, tell me. What exactly do you want me to get you for Hanukkah?” This is a dreaded phrase my dear friend does not want to hear from her mother. My friend aches to be seen through a Reflective, Celebratory, or Aspirational gift. Something that shows her mother recognizes her gifts, celebrates her wins, or sees who she is evolving into. (She also dreads the questions since whatever she chooses will likely be judged lacking.)

 

7. Practical: “I want you to be safe and comfortable.”

• Hit: My grandmother, making up for her previous misses of giving baby clothes to my seemingly barren mom (spoiler alert, she wasn’t); Grandma was excellent at seeing what you needed and giving you just the thing. She was a pro at the warm socks, sturdy shoes, and mittens on a string that we used over and over. 
• Miss: As teenagers, my siblings and I didn’t appreciate our own mortality or even the possibility of getting hurt, but my dad did. We wanted gifts of CDs or clothes or concert tickets, but one year, we all got first aid and safety kits for our cars. I’m sure we couldn’t hide the disappointment on our faces when we opened them. (Though some years later, I felt prepared and cared for seeing it there in the backseat.) 

 

8. Intellectual: “I hope to expand your understanding of the world around you.”

• Hit: During Thanksgiving this year, I joined my middle daughter at her place in Philadelphia for some days. While we cooked and talked and watched movies in her cozy apartment, I got familiar with her bookshelves, and was surprised at how many titles I recognized. We hadn’t lived together for nearly 10 years, but the gifts of books she received from me, her dad, and her sisters not only make her home warm and inviting, but I can see how they’ve shaped her thinking and character as she evolves into her adult self. 
• Miss: I was a bookworm as a child. At age 8, I was thrilled to hold a wrapped object from my parents that clearly was the thickest book ever given to me. I gasped and asked them, “Is this the greatest collection of stories ever told?!?” They blanched, glanced at each other, looked concerned, then turned back to me, fixed their faces warmed back into smiles, “Why, yes! Yep. Yes, it is!” When I opened it, I had to quickly fix my own face to mask my disappointment when the book was not about dragons or knights or time travel. It was a bible.

 

9. Scheduled Event: “I would like to experience this with you this year.”

• Hit: There is a picture of my brother and sister standing together in a theater in front of the billboard for Hamilton. The picture says it all: dressed for a special occasion, their arms slung around each other, and whole face smiles where their eyes disappear. I’m not clear on who gave tickets to whom, but looking forward to this event together lit up their year from the time they received the tickets through the show and beyond.
• Miss: A family member received a very generous gift of tickets to join the whole family on a cruise later that year. Though many other family members were excited to be on the ocean, see new sights, and dine on unlimited buffets, this particular family member was spooked by crowds, felt itchy in the sun, and liked to control their own meals. They felt dread from the moment they received the tickets until final disembarkment from the boat. 

 

10. Time: “Instead of material objects, I want us to give each other the gift of lowered stress and celebrate the richness our lives already have.”

• Hit: With the pressure of end-of-year family, community, and extra work duties, my girlfriend turned to me and asked, “Can we just give each other the gift of time together this year?” I felt happy to relieve her of one thing during this hectic season, so I nodded and smiled. Her shoulders relaxed, her body eased, and she breathed deeper in relief.
• Miss: I already bought something for her. (After her initial deep relaxing breath, she saw through my stiff smiled facade and we compromised on Just One Thing and exchanging on New Year’s.)

 

11. Heirloom: “Our lives are woven together by sharing history through these objects.”

• Hit: When my parents were at the end of their lives, I lived away in a neighboring state. I needed to travel back to be near them for weeks at a time during their illnesses and through taking care of their funerals. Many of these nights, I was invited to stay at a dear friend’s house. She made me tea at the end of unimaginable days, had a quiet place for me to sleep during bouts of grief, and listened to my stories of each day. In thanks for her generous heart, I gave her a painting my dad had created years earlier. Though we’re not blood-related, I hoped to give the message through this object that she felt like family.
• Miss: One painting my dad created was of an old man unshaven, in scruffy clothing, and with dirty hands, holding lightly with his fingertips a delicately flowered tea cup, about to take a sip. It wasn’t Dad’s usual subject of desert scenes, trucks, and buildings. It reminded us all of his father, a miner who loved the desert. Occasionally, my dad showed his work and entered competitions. After one competition, when we were helping him bring his works back home, we asked about “The Old Man and the Tea.” He casually answered, “Ah, someone wanted to buy it, so I sold it to them.” We were gutted. The painting was a gift we all had hoped to receive, and now it was gone. 

12. Homemade: “I dedicated my time and energy to creating this one-of-a-kind object for you.”

• Hit: Anything by a child. My daughters created gift bags nearly 20 years ago in a class project: brown lunch sacks with drawings and cut-out festive shapes glued to them. They have been used yearly and are tattered, but I can’t throw them away. 
• Miss: I remember receiving woven synthetic pot holders from another adult as an adult. I understood that the giver had limited funds, but I still felt annoyed. How can I hold a hot pan with them if they are synthetic and will melt? Am I supposed to just pass these on to the landfill?! (Did I mention I have Grinchy tendencies?)

 

Dear reader, I aim for these words to be my gift to you this holiday season. I’m hoping for a few possible stories. Perhaps you read something here and find inspiration for the story you want to tell a loved one. Perhaps you realize you need to check with your people before you shift your collective story of holiday meaning and replace all gifts with… nothing. Maybe you laugh at our precious, flawed human attempts at connection. Or perhaps you, too, learn to recognize and forgive your gift fails, Grinchy ways, and try again through the season’s gifts to connect, bring light to the dark days, and share an expression of love.