December 11, 2004
Saturday

Every year my church sponsors an Angel Giving Tree. A committee gathers suggestions from social service agencies, the pastor, school guidance counselors, and members of the congregation about people whose present circumstances, be they chronic or temporary, might make for a subdued if not downright grim holiday season. They put a wooden tree in the narthex and hang it with angel ornaments, each bearing a gift suggestion — 1.25 power reading glasses, certificate for cut and style at Hair Express, girls’ socks in assorted colors. You choose one or more, procure the item, and deliver it to church on Gaudete Sunday, the third Sunday of Advent.

When Lynn was little and everything was an object lesson in The True Meaning of Christmas, we always chose something for a child her age as well as adults like me and Ron. We shopped together for the gifts, wrapped them, and placed them on the table, and remembered the unnamed recipients in our family prayers. Over the years we’ve bought Harry Potter books, blank journals, Dallas Cowboys sweatshirts, boxed chocolates, and (in years when we were really pressed for time) the occasional generic gift certificate at the Colonial Park Shopping Center.

Because Lynn is away this year, I was left to carry on this tradition alone. I chose to get a “twin sheet set for an adult woman” and, because I miss my tiny baby so much, “soft blocks and stacking/nesting cups for a 16-month-old.”

The sheet set was easy. I took a 20% off coupon to Bed, Bath & Beyond and got a very nice 400-count Egyptian cotton blend set in a soft ivory for $25. Then it was off to Toys-R-Us for the baby toys.

To tell you the truth, I had planned to go to a toney specialty store, perhaps one in our new collection of “lifestyle shops” on the hill above Lynn’s high school. (A “lifestyle shop” is a store that sells stuff no one actually needs. Susquehanna Township’s new shopping destination has two jewelers, an upscale baby outfitter where the cribs cost $2500, a Talbott’s, a J. Jill, a Coldwater Creek, an Anne Klein Loft, two men’s clothiers, a Williams-Sonoma, and a Starbuck’s.) But I ran out of time, and since there was a Toys-R-Us in the same shopping plaza, I walked over there.

I haven’t been to Toys-R-Us in about ten years, since things for Lynn were better found at Circuit City or a good book store. I thought going in there again would be nostalgic. It wasn’t.

Everything in the infant and toddler section is labeled (usually in more than one language) a “learning toy.” They all do something. They beep or they buzz or they flash colored lights. There are devices for warming the baby wipes and more kinds of feeding implements than there are foods to give the child. There are things to lock other things up (like the lid of the toilet) and alarms to tell you if the lock has been defeated.

I did find a set of soft blocks that didn’t need batteries. But I never did find a set of nesting cups. (Lynn had one that she loved. I think we still have them.) So I bought a set of food storage containers in graduated sizes, with snap lids. They’re intended for use by adults to transport the child’s snacks (those containers of Cheerios and Goldfish crackers and raisins that you use to buy children’s cooperation), but it was the best I could do.

I took the things to church this morning, along with a hideous Santa-shaped ceramic cookie jar that was foisted upon me as a “free gift” for buying over a certain dollar amount at a cosmetics counter. If I’d known I was getting that I wouldn’t have bought the second item. I slipped it under the table when no one was looking, hoping that the committee members would be able to find a recipient for it. But I felt bad. Even poor people shouldn’t have to own something that ugly.

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