White Gifts

It might not be too surprising to learn that I'm not a very religious person. It's great if you are, more power to you. But as a friend of  mine once quoted to me, "Organized religion is like organized crime and I try to stay away from both". Take that as you will, but I was  raised in a religious tradition. The tradition of the Methodists, which from what I remember was less about the condemnation and more about  the singing and the doughnuts in the basement afterwards. I was even confirmed as a Methodist, but that is a story and a revelation for  another time. My family has many stories around our misadventures with church, and this is but one of them. Perhaps the most famous of them.

It was Christmas, one of my all time favorite times of year. For the small price of being mostly good, one gets phat lootz. From a magic man with flying reindeer. Which is just about the greatest thing to ever happen to a kid and an adult. I love the concept of Santa, and I pretty much love just about everything that has to do with Christmas. Especially the music, of which I have a lot. One of the best things about  Christmas is watching people stress out about how perfect everything has to be. Christmas perfection is a completely un-achievable goal, as something will always go wrong. I've long since accepted this aspect of the Christmas season and have made peace with it. And I think I have the church to thank for that, in just a small way.

Christmas is the season for giving, as they say. and one should always give to the poor and needy. This was a mantra that was sold to us over the many years of church going and advertisements, one that is rung by annoying bell ringers throughout the land and in front of malls. Christmas is a time to remember that not everyone is as fortunate as you - you in this case was myself and my family living in the suburb of Wayzata - and that we as a community should do what we can for the poor children who would not get anything for Christmas.

One thing that I always found strange about our church was how the various parishioners were divided up during the whole event. I remember as a kid we would start church up in the main room with everyone else and our families. Then after a few songs and the minister had spoken to the kids in a slightly condescending fashion, we were sent off to Sunday school. I hated Sunday school. It was boring and I was often with kids who weren't my friends and with whom I didn't want to form a friendship with anyway. I remember on more than one occasion heading off to the bathroom after being excused and just wandering the halls and spying on the other classes, especially the older classes to see if anything would get better or more lively. It never looked like it would, nor did it ever. Honestly, this is probably as close to hell as I would get. Aimlessly wandering plan halls covered in religious themes, looking for anything interesting happening - and interesting things will never happen.

It was in these Sunday school sessions around Christmas time that the lovely teachers spoke to us all about Jesus and his birth and the gifts and such. I never understood why Santa wasn't in these stories, as it seemed to be a glaring oversight on everyone's part. We all listened to what the teachers had to say, and then they presented us with the idea. We were to think of all the poor children who wouldn't have much on Christmas morning from their families and we should take care of them. Now, this also struck me as odd. Every story and show about Santa Claus clearly stated that he brought gifts for ALL children - even if they were crappy wood carved arks - so why did they need my help? This seems like stepping all over Santa's toes. But we were told that even with Santa, who could only do so much, these children might not get any toys because Santa liked to make sure their basic needs were met by bringing them socks.

Reluctantly, I bought the line as being good and no disruptive as a major part of the Santa gift getting rules. We were then told as a class, as was every kid in Sunday school, that next Sunday we were to bring in a "White Gift". Each child would find a toy for a poor and needy child and bring it into church so that it could be passed along to them before Christmas. They were called White Gifts because we would lovingly wrap each gift in pure white tissue paper, and then we would place that beautiful White Gift under the tree. It would look like glorious piles of snow under the tree, piles of warm and caring snow. "Be sure to tell your parents!" we were told. We all nodded in agreement. And 10 minutes after being told, I promptly forgot. TO MY CREDIT, my brother forgot as well.

Morning were usually chaotic in our house, as they are in many people's houses who have kids. And let it be known that I like to sleep. I like sleep a lot, and waking up in the morning was just about the worst thing to happen in my day. Waking up for church only compounded my hatred and evil mood. Despite having a week to tell our parents of the wonderful idea of White Gifts, as I was sure every other family had done, we didn't tell them. In fact, it wasn't until we got into the car and were driving the 15 minutes to Church, already pressed for time as we were often running behind schedule, that we remembered White Gifts at all. "Mom! We were supposed to get White Gifts!"

After quickly explaining the whole idea, my parents said the most natural thing of all, "Why are you just telling us now?"

"We forgot!" we cried, trying to sound somewhat pitiful.

After a quick argument over being late to church or arriving without any White Gifts for the poor and needy children, a decision was made to stop at the local drugstore and make our White Gifts purchases. The Rexal Drug store was a wonderland to me. They had rows of candy, a toy section, magazines and comic books. Upon entering the store, my father quickly found the tissue paper and scotch tape, while my brother and I started to head toward the toy section, which was much farther into the store. "There's no time," my mother hissed at us, "Get something from up here. We have to go!"

The selection of options near the front of the store was completely limited to everything you would never want to get for a gift. All the impulse items that might cause a person to say, "Oh.. I need that" and not "Oh, I want that". There is a big difference between want and need, and I've always felt Christmas is a want holiday; not a need holiday. While my brother and I pondered over the least offensive options, time ticked away and so did my mother's patience. In the end, we chose two sets of unbreakable combs as our White Gift. Oh I could only imagine the joy that recipients of our choice would get upon opening their White Gifts. Did you get a toy? No.. better. Unbreakable combs. It would be a true a Christmas miracle, these gifts of combs.

With everything purchased, we flew back to the car in an desperate attempt to make it to Church on time. Combs, tissue paper, scotch tape and a notorious temper accompanied my mother to the front seat as she set about trying to wrap these crap combs into the perfect White Gift for under the church tree. Doing any sort of detail work in a moving vehicle is a crap shoot at best, and already at her end, these White Gifts were proving to be a step to far for my mom. I could hear my mother's patience shredding as quickly as the flimsy tissue paper shred as the slightest touch of the hard cardboard of the comb packaging. After a few attempts, and many exclamations of "Shit!", my brother and I were surprised by two sets of unbreakable combs that had been hurled at us from the front, followed by fluttering pages of white tissue paper and a role of tape. "Wrap your own god damned White Gifts!" was our only comment and command. Indignation welled up in my brother and I, as we wrapped these crappy combs with all the angst two children who had brought this upon themselves could muster. Driving in silence, with only the rip of scotch tape to break it, we arrived at church with two oval bundles of White Mess that would need to pass as a perfect White Gift.

Much like all the other Sundays, the children joined the rest of the congregation in the main room, before being banished off to the depths of Sunday school. Each of us holding our White Gifts, we children lined up in a procession, to place our wonderful gift for the poor and needy under the tree. As we moved toward the tree at the front of the hall, the minister spoke of all the love and kindness that happens in this glorious season of Christmas and how these white gifts, so carefully wrapped with love, were true symbols of the spirit of Christmas. As I held the white ball of tissue with an unbreakable comb core, I just turned to look at my parents and glared.