When we asked people for stories about the holiday gift they’d ever received, Marcos Garsia responded: “Really? It’s a damn gift! There is no such thing as a bad gift.”
Really, Marcos? What about the unusable Fork” that was presented one Christmas to an overweight relative?
Or consider the present from Denver Post reader Dona Carroll’s regifting mother?
“One year for Christmas, my mother gave me a pantsuit she no longer wanted,” Dona posted on the Denver Post’s Facebook page.
“Wrapped it up and put it under the tree as if it were new. And yes, she could afford to have gotten me something brand new.”
Let’s hope Dona and her mom are about the same size.
and Denver Post staffers to share their un-merriest memories of Christmas past. Read on for stories that will give you a new appreciation for the festive sweater that your great-aunt knitted as a special token of her affection.
TWO OFFENSES IN ONE!
“My dad and my step-mom gave me a for Christmas. They thought it was a ring holder.” (Vickie Sims, via Facebook)
BUGGED
“A ! It was such a stinker, it has turned into the gag gift annually. Sometimes as a birthday present, always under the tree. The thing is still in its original packaging, and when opened (often disguised) causes raucous laughter!” (Toby Norton, via Facebook)
A FRUITY AND TERRIFYING TRADITION
It arrived in a box with other Christmas presents from Dayton, Ohio, neatly wrapped. But when I ripped the festive paper off that squat rectangular package and beheld the disgusting fruit cake inside, I instantly wished I’d left it alone.
It was a joke, of course. In his 63 years, my father’s propensity for cheap humor and gag gifts was matched only by his sentimentality. This once-soft, brown — which proudly declared its purchase price of $2.50 on the package — was 1,230 calories of nasty-looking walnut bread with unpronounceable ingredients.
I stashed it in a circular holiday tin where it sat for years, occasionally reappearing when my wife and I would rifle through our box of holiday decorations. The smell that hit my face — like a pack of nutty, long-stale chewing gum — was subtly nauseating. But I couldn’t bring myself to throw it out, if only because my dad’s plan had worked: I found it funny.
I stumbled upon it again before Christmas 2012, just a couple months after my father died and my first child (who’s named after my dad) was born. Instead of the usual revulsion and amusement, I felt an overwhelming sadness and sense of connection.
I thought about how my dad had touched this thing when (likely) buying it from some gas station near his house. The cashier probably looked at him like he was nuts. And he probably thought that was great.
Over the last couple years the has brought me an absurd sort of comfort. I’m glad I never opened that crappy thing. It’s not crazy to think the cake will outlive me, given its alarming lack of decomposition, to become a sort of family-heirloom gag gift. Unlike everything around me, it hasn’t changed a bit. (John Wenzel, Denver Post)
IT’S THE SIZE THAT COUNTS
” from my mother-in-law!!!” (Bobbie Jo McClure-Gunderson, via Facebook)
INCOMPLETE
” and paddle. I had no table. I was 12 years of age.” (Lee Orsback, via Facebook)
DITTO
“A book. Lol! Made a good fire-starter.” (Jeffry Hoagland, via Facebook)
TMI
“I got from my ex-husband’s grandma the first year we were married! Awkward!” (Kristin Randlett, via Facebook)
NOT EVEN REGIFTING
“When we were kids, we got empty beer cans and in our stockings. uncle thought it was funny. My younger sister was devastated.” (Vicky Peters, via Facebook)
TOBACCO-FREE
It was 1965. I was seven years old. Mom and Dad had given my sisters and me $5 each with which to buy them Christmas presents.
We walked down to the Railroad Salvage store in my tiny hometown and scoured the aisles for the perfect gift.
For Mom: A “golden” (gilded lead, most likely) pin cushion with a red velvet puff. For Dad: A that said it was for cigarette smokers. (Dad, a World War II Marine, was a pack-a-day smoker.)
Christmas morning, Mom opened her gift from me and beamed. Dad opened his and … grinned, blushed. My older sisters broke out in screams of laughter, my mom’s loud guffaw echoed off the ceiling.
I burst into tears, not knowing why they didn’t think my gift was the coolest.
Dad’s been gone for nearly 25 years now, but I still have that donkey. I swear it helped me quit smoking, too. All I had to do was look at that cigarette emerging from the hind end. (Barb Ellis, Denver Post)
BABY’S FIRST STEAK KNIVES
“My husband’s grandma sent our son a set of steak knives for his .” (Kate Young, via Facebook)
CANNED
“My mother gave me a once. One of the main reasons I don’t talk to her any more.” (Matthew Shellenberger, via Facebook)
REDEFINING “REGIFTING”
“A pearl bracelet that I was .” (Sandy Wells, via Facebook)
NOT A TRAIN
When my brother, Michael, was perhaps 5 years old, our uncle Bob presented him with a featherweight long, rectangular box about an inch deep.
“A TRAIN!” Michael exclaimed. I rolled my eyes. Uncle Bob, who came of age during the Great Depression, was for giving gifts.
Michael tore off the holiday wrapping. His freckled little face fell.
” ” he said, utterly betrayed.
Then he yelled, ” ”
He hurled the package across the room.
Guess what item, , now annually waits under the tree for my brother. Hint: It’s not a train. (Claire Martin, Denver Post)
SANTA’S DEBT
“When my sis-in-law was little, she received note from Santa. He never made good on it.” (Kimberly Castle Gibson, via Facebook)
WHERE’S THE REST OF THE SHIRT?
“A (a fake turtleneck). Given to me when I was 15. I lived in Florida. And it was 75 degrees out. From my bio-dad’s alcoholic common-law-wife, who hated me. Yup. I’m sure she put lots of thought into that. Probably spent all day picking it out.” (Lyn Elizabethe, via Facebook)
WHAT’S THE MAGIC WORD?
“Thank-you cards. Apparently I don’t seem like I’m thoughtful enough to send out ?” (Morgan Meyer, via Facebook)
Claire Martin: 303-954-1477, cmartin@denverpost.com or twitter.com/byclairemartin
