My parents, and my mother, in particular, did a good job of instilling in my brother and me the importance of giving to those in need. The idea was never crammed down our throats, but it sunk in over the years as we watched them go about their various philanthropic pursuits.
More than any time in the past, I find myself really revelling in gift giving this year. I really enjoy trying to come up with ideas for things that I think my family and friends might like or at least get some use out of. The thought of getting gifts, on the other hand, fills me with a kind of dread. Not that I don’t appreciate and feel honored by the thoughtfulness of the giver, just that I don’t really need any more stuff in my life. I look around at my little family and the things we already have, and it’s difficult to identify an honest-t0-goodness need. I know this places us in a very small, very lucky group, and that fact isn’t lost on me.
To a smaller degree, I suppose I see myself now — since Ava — living not for myself but for my daughter. She’s still young enough that she has legitimate, fundamental needs she has no way of filling herself. Food. Clothing. Shelter. Affection. And I want her to someday have the means to get a good education, if that’s what she decides she wants. I’m wavering on whether I’ll pay for a big fancy wedding; with any luck Ava will remain unmarried, elope, or opt for a simple, stripped-down affair attended by a few close friends and family. Maybe she’ll want to pay for it herself. The future is wide open.
I hope the people I bought gifts for this year enjoy them. I hope they get from them the pleasure I anticipate they will. And I hope Ava grows up straight and strong and not wanting for anything her beautiful little heart desires.