That Christmas We Got Three Curling Irons From The Salvation Army
This story is part of The Establishment’s Sadlarious Holiday Series. In lieu of sentimental platitudes and Hallmark-approved happy endings, these short essays focus on the messy, tragicomic spirit of the season.
Turn up your Pandora holiday playlist, spike some eggnog, and enjoy.
Every year as Christmas approached, our mom would tell us, “It’s not gonna be big or fancy, okay?” This became a ritual. I preferred smaller gifts anyway. One year, there was a specific teddy bear I wanted — her name was Holly and she wore a red dress. Our Mom bought my twin and I a larger version of the same bear, perhaps as a surprise, perhaps to compensate or overcompensate for the other things she couldn’t give us. But I was disappointed because I wanted the smaller bear.
Another year, we were given a make-your-own-paper kit. I wanted to make stationery, fliers, and magazines, and the commercial made it look so easy. But when we got the kit, we discovered that to make one sheet of paper, we had to shred 10 sheets of paper, soak them overnight, and then let each new single sheet dry for a full day before making another one. So we put the kit back in the box and never made anything.
But one year, the It’s-Not-Gonna-Be-Big-or-Fancy ritual changed. Instead, we were told our mom…
