Yes, yes.. I know it’s shallow (as Stef made a point of telling me when he started reading over my shoulder) but the day in which we celebrate the arrival of my squalling, blood and mucal covered self into this world is close at hand.
I know, you already knew this, (I can see you checking that diary Claire..) but this post is not aimed at you, this post is a request to the odd family member who sneaks a peak occasionally:
Don’t mither me with requests for present ideas this year – it bugs me.
As I’m 31 this time around, if you haven’t figured out by now that the easiest way to bring a smile to my face is book tokens then you have proven beyond a shadow of a doubt that I talk to myself (because we have had this conversation at least twice a year since you were old enough to figure out the gift giving thing and every single time I practically scream the words ‘book tokens’ at you – so far only Kenneth seems to ‘get it’)
Tell ya what, I’ve made it really easy for you by organising my amazon wishlist (and please avoid commenting, I have my reasons for choosing the things I do) and the fact that you have until May 13th to get it sorted (see, I’m timely with my reminders) means you don’t even have to do anything about it now, just click that link and be overwhelmed at my taste in crap – it’s even sorted into priority, the things I want most are labelled ‘highest’ so it may be best if you sort by priority when deciding which of the ‘crap’ to buy for your beloved sister. (Yes Rob, that’s aimed at you – pass it on to Richard wouldja?)
Now to the meat of the post for anyone not expected to gift me with random crap. (that’s most of you)
Actually, I’ve had some incredibly thoughtful presents over the years, the unexpected ones are always best. (not a hint I hasten to add)
There was the T-shirt Matthew Garside made me for my 21st way back when I was into unicorns in a BIG way (think Kate in Dodgeball, my whole room was a shrine to the horned beast) I’ve still got it and I still wear it, though it’s now faded and a little on the ‘worn’ side, see for yourself:
My brother Kenneth probably comes up tops though. He’s always been the thoughtful kind (for me at any rate, not sure what his girlfriend thinks) even when I moved away from home and had infrequent contact with them he somehow knew the perfect thing to buy me to put a smile on my face, I still have the mini Djembe he bought when I wasn’t aware he knew I was learning to play the drums and he clocked onto the book token thing early on.
But the absolute best thing he ever bought me was Storm, my teddy bear:
Mum said he dragged her all round Daventry looking for the perfect bear for my 18th birthday, he wouldn’t be dissuaded from the idea even though she kept telling him I was too old for that kind of thing. Since he was only 10 years old at the time it makes it even more special (I’m tearing up just thinking about it – man I’m such a sap!)
The back story is that when he was about 6 or 7 we’d had a conversation about favourite toys and how sometimes when they break they need to be disposed of, I’d told him this story:
I was (and still am) a tad bitter about one particular toy, my teddy bear.
To me that brown and white teddy bear was not just a toy, it was my friend. It was the thing I cried into when I was upset, it was the thing I hugged when I was happy, I read to it, played with it, told it all of my secrets and beat up on it when there was nothing else to take out my anger on.
It rarely left my room but it was always there when I needed a shoulder – and kids need shoulders a lot, I spent a lot of time in my room with that bear, it was like another part of me.
Anyway, as kids do, I got sick. I threw up everywhere – including all over my bear, mum came in and said it would have to go, it was too dirty to keep, I begged and begged her to change her mind but she was adamant – in the morning it was going.
So I waited until she went downstairs and spent the rest of the night creeping back and forth between my room and the bathroom carrying handfulls of water with which to clean my bear, using an old pen knife I scraped and scraped until I thought it was almost clean again then I fell asleep.
It was no good, in the morning when mum was stripping the bed I was called to the foot of the stairs and my bear was thrown down at me with the instruction to ‘put it in the dustbin NOW‘ I don’t know why I thought she’d notice all my effort and hard work and tell me everything was ok and it could stay – but that’s the mind of a child for you. To the adult that was my mother it would be too much effort to clean the thing so it was going in the bin.
I think I cried for about 2 days. It’s daft to still feel upset about it over 20 years later, but I really loved that bear and she made me throw it out myself – I felt like I’d betrayed my best friend.
Anyhow, Kenneth remembered the story and decided the best thing he could get me was a new bear, I still love it to bits and every time I hug my storm I think of Kenneth and that thoughtfulness, it never ceases to cheer me up or bring a tear to my eye – even now 13 years later.