FNJ, that being my Favorite Nephew Jason, emailed the two above photos this morning. On the left that is my Cousin Scott, from a few decades ago. On the right that is Cousin Scott sitting next to my Favorite Aunt Arlene.
Aunt Arlene is my dad's sister, currently, if I am remembering correctly, 92 years old.
Cousin Scott was a reporter for the Seattle Times. Mostly reporting sports type news, I think. I don't actually recollect ever reading an article by Cousin Scott in the Seattle Times.
But this morning the aforementioned FNJ also emailed an article by Cousin Scott from the Seattle Times, published December 19, 2007. I'll copy that article below, but first Google's goofy look back at my memories from this day...
Usually I know what maybe half of these memories are. This time I may remember more than half, but I don't know why I'd find them especially memorable. In the upper left that is Aunt Alice with Santa Claus. I have no idea where the Christmas tree is from. Certainly not my above. The lower left is my bike's handlebars looking at the Polar Express trams which carry people to view the Fantasy of Light, launching from a MSU parking lot. And the lower right, well, that is Aunt Alice again, in her Naughty Nun costume.
And now that article by Cousin Scott. It is totally not sports related...
Seattle Times: December 19, 2007
The excesses of holiday giving
By Scott Barry
I almost scared the holiday spirit right out of my mom one year.
I did something, it became public and she was horrified. Ho ho ho. I was probably 6 or 7, walking the streets of downtown Lynden during the holidays, window-shopping. A reporter and photographer for the Lynden Tribune were asking kids like me what we wanted for Christmas.
“A train,” I told them as the photographer took my picture. Next thing I know, the paper comes out and there’s my picture and words telling the world that all I’ve ever really wanted, the one and only most special and to-be-treasured present of all time, would be … a train. Just a train, Santa. A little one that runs around in circles on its little track. Please?
I think Mom screamed when she saw that in the paper, because it was either too close to Christmas or too far from payday to get one for me.
Fast-forward to today and questions I have every year at this time related to what I and many other parents do for our kids at Christmas. Too much. We do too much.
Why? In my case, is it that vision of Christmas trains past that still haunts me? Is this my personal version of “A Christmas Carol?”
I know I do too much for my 13-year-old daughter. Gift cards, clothes, music, techie toys and more.
“Dad,” she’ll say, “I really need a new cellphone, fa la la la la.” Or, “Dad, the greatest gift you could give me,” she begins softly, sincerely, and I’m thinking, ‘Aw, she wants us to spend more time together digging for fossils or walking a beach looking for treasures,’ but then she continues, “would be to let me spend more time with my friends on weekends, or 5-10-20 gift cards.”
Oh.
Don’t get me wrong; she’s not about excess and me me me. She enjoys spending time over the holidays at senior centers and doing other things that involve only her time and presence and the warm, fuzzy feeling that comes as a result of giving of yourself with no expectation of anything in return.
She has a healthy view of giving vs. receiving. She knows she’ll never get more than a few things on her list. And I firmly believe she’ll turn out just fine regardless of what presents she might receive.
No, she’s not the problem. I am.
Is there a Giftoholics Anonymous? A 12-gift program? A support group for parents like me? And I’ll bet I’m not alone.
Help me, Santa; save me from myself.
And if it wouldn’t be too much trouble, I’m still waiting for that train.
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