When I was six, I learned a lesson about gift giving.
You see, I’d saved up my allowance to buy my parents gifts for Christmas, and I was sooooooo excited for them. I had bought THE PERFECT gifts. And since this was my first year buying on my own, without their supervision, I was feeling very grown-up and accomplished.
Mother was easy. She loved art supplies. I also loved art supplies (and I used hers up a lot), so I bought her some amazing watercolor pencils. Like a 148-piece set, or something. It was bigger than any she’d had before, and it helped replace what I’d used. AND, of course, I was excited to use new colors.
Dad was a bit harder, but I finally figured it out, and I was bouncing in my seat while he opened the wrapping paper.
To the Strawberry Shortcake Playhouse I’d carefully chosen for him.
My poor father.
It was explained to me that this was a wonderful gift. And a thoughtful one. Perfect, really.
Not for my father.
My father wouldn’t ever use this gift, because he really only played with dolls with me.
And, I got it.
Some gifts are perfect for some people, and not so much for others.
I learned that lesson again 10 years later when my parents had split and BOTH of them had found amazing happiness with others.
My parents were amazing, dynamic, wonderful people.
And together, they were not ideal.
Apart, with others who loved all that they were…they flourished.
Some people just won’t know what to do with you.
And that’s OK.
It doesn’t make them bad (unless they actually do mean-spirited things). It just makes you a gift for someone else.