I’m afraid there is a new trend taking place within my family that started about a year ago and seems to still be happening. And, suffice it to say, it has a little bit concerned.
Let’s rewind about a year.
In July of 2006 I moved into this apartment after having lived with the same roommates for three years. When I first moved in with them, they had furniture already, so there was no real need for me to buy any beyond what I would need in my own bedroom.
But now that we were parting ways and I was living alone, the only furniture I had was that in the bedroom. The rest of the apartment was empty. And since living alone is much more expensive than having a roommate (or two), I didn’t see any way that I was going to be able to afford to get all of the furniture I was going to need any time soon.
So, for about three months, I lived with only a chair in the living room.
Then, one day, I got a check in the mail from Mom with a note telling me to use it for furniture. It was like an angel choir had come down from above and sang a gorgeous chorus of Hallelujah.
So, a couple friends by my side, I hopped on the free bus to IKEA and dropped about a grand on a new living room. Sofa, coffee table, chair, rug, bookshelf (all of which can be see in my The Grand Tour entry, by the way) along with some random decorative crap.
Finally, a home I was able to take a little bit of pride in. I could finally have company over. I finally felt like I was becoming more of an adult.
Then I come to find out that the money Mom sent me was from my dead grandfather. Part of the inheritance.
Not that it made all that much of a difference, but for the first few weeks after that, I couldn’t look at my lovely new living room without thinking of my dead grandfather. It kinda rained on my parade a little bit.
Fast forward to Christmas.
I put some responsible “need” things on my Christmas wish list instead of just fun “want” things. Since I was still fairly new to living alone, I still needed some things that used to just be able to borrow from my roommates. Things like kitchen/cooking supplies. Some cleaning supplies. And tools. I needed a basic took kit just to do small things around the house that may need to be done from time to time.
When it came time to open my gifts from my family, we did it over the phone so we could still be together, in a manner of speaking, as we exchanged our gifts. I opened one to find that it was a toolbox. A heavy toolbox. A toolbox filled with tools.
The first words out of my mother’s mouth as I open the box to look at the tools were: “Those tools belonged to your grandfather, you know.”
There was a long silent pause.
And, no kidding, the tools smelled like old. A big ole whiff of old came pouring out of the toolbox and attacked me. Don’t get me wrong. Do NOT get me wrong. I am very thankful that I now have the tools and can kinda maybe sorta understand the family heirloom(ish?)-ness of it all considering that my grandfather spent much of his retirement years building things for everyone in the family, and probably used those same tools for all of those homemade gifts. But when all is said and done, my mother gave me a dead man’s hammer for Christmas.
Fast forward to this past weekend.
My birthday was three days ago, and once again, I received a nice little package in the mail from my family with all of my gifts in it. And in the box was a vintage Disney lunch box.
Now, anyone who knows me knows that I have a huge boner for almost anything Disney, so I was very excited about this lunchbox. There was no thermos, which was a bit of a bummer, but whatever. A vintage Disney metal lunchbox!
The picture on the front showed Mickey, Donald, Goofy, Huey, Dewey, Louie and Pluto all working together to build and paint the Mickey Mouse Clubhouse. The back of the lunchbox showed a group of various Disney characters tossing Mickey up into the air and catching him in the round blanket-y thing like in the opening credits of the original Mouse Club television show. The sides of the lunchbox were covered with various smaller pictures of scenes of the characters building and working. There was also one of Minnie and Daisy bringing some lemonade to their hard working boys.
It. is. gorgeous! And even more so with the little bangs and bruises it’s gotten over the years.
Upon closer investigation, I discovered a place on the lunchbox where the owner writes his or her name and address just in case lunchbox and owner were ever to get separated. I could see that there was a name and address there at one point in time, but it had become very faded over the years. However, I was able to make out the name D. Mitchell and an address that appeared to be similar to what I kinda sorta vaguely remember to be my grandmother (on my father’s side) address. But she died in 1990 (I think), and that was also the last time I saw and/or had any contact with my father, so I couldn’t be 100% sure that it was the same address.
I come to find out that I’m correct, and that D. Mitchell is my aunt. The lunchbox was hers when she was a child. Then I realize that this is also the aunt that died last year.
Again, I feel I should point out that I am in love with the lunchbox itself, and very appreciative that I have it. But, let us not forget that I now have a dead woman’s lunchbox.
As if that wasn’t weird enough, I then find out that the lunchbox is a birthday gift from my father. The reason that that’s noteworthy, is that this would make it the first gift of any sort he’s given to me since I was ten. The first gift he’s given me in seventeen years. To be completely honest, I don’t know what to think about that. I feel bad being so skeptical of his motives, because it was a really nice thing for him to do. But at the same time, I think I’m entitled to a little bit of those feelings considering the history, or lack thereof.
But anyway. That makes three times in the past year where I’ve been given a gift that can be traced back to someone in my family kicking the bucket. I’m wondering how long this gift-giving trend is going to last. It’s like some perverse version of Robin Hood, where my family is stealing from the dead and giving to me.
I’ll just need to do a better job in the future of reminding them that God created Amazon.com wish lists for a reason.