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As a child I never paid attention to the gifts my parents gave to each other. Their gifts were always boring, utilitarian or unremarkable. My Father was also not known for his gift giving prowess, and so my Mother usually ended up with little home-made trinkets, candy, and toys that ended up back in the hands of the gift-giver.
One Christmas, while we sat around the tree laughing and enjoying each others company, my Mother received a large heavy box from my Father, the only present from him that year. As we sat there watching my poor Mother open that box, none of us realized the extent to which my Father had failed that year. Inside the poorly wrapped package was a box of staples. More staples than a person could use in their lifetime (my Mother still has these staples.)My Mother stood and left the room, the silence was too uncomfortable for a group of young children and we soon were back to our own gifts, purchased, thankfully, by our Mother.
It’s been years, and my family laughs about this now. But it’s still a bittersweet laughter, because even after 15 more years, my Father really hasn’t improved much.
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