Finding a present

for Wal was difficult. I’d get hung up in what I wanted to give him – I am crippled with good taste. I couldn’t afford it, I’d check with him and that wouldn’t work either because he wanted a surprise. Then, breakthrough … I set a limit, went to a good TK Maxx, selected carefully and bought him all sorts of unguents and cosmetic nonsense – sometimes for content, sometimes for aspiration, sometimes for amusing names or even packaging. Success.
What we give people, tangibly and otherwise – the intended not the inferred – can be very difficult. A friend’s birthday tomorrow is best not marked with a card – short term memory impairment – doesn’t remember. And what could I give Elizabeth (not her name) ?

She had a horrible, emotionally exploitative childhood hooked to respectable Catholicism on the one hand and abuse of everything that taught on the other. She has made sense of it, and of most of her life – we all falter somewhere along the line. She has picked up and rescued her husband ,equally compromised, down the years, this made more complicated by a personality that doesn’t care.
For years she has bailed him out in every way and he has just had the second wanton accident (in contravention of earlier medical advice) and expects her – without acknowledgement or discussion – to take him home and rehabilitate him. Again. She has taken legal advice, told the hospital and her estranged son (estranged from them both but still expecting her to pick up the pieces) and the aforementioned husband that she won’t be doing it.

Not this time.
When her son jibbed at it, she said quietly “Why don’t I put him on the plane and you take care of him ?” She is coping remarkably well – discovering mess in the house, unpaid bills, presumably being alone has a down as well as an up (doesn’t it always ?) And yesterday I was wandering round when I saw a book on the shelves of the local British Heart Foundation shop. I looked at the cover, I recognised the author whom I met and interviewed, and the photographer, and I bought it for the price of little more than a card.

I wrote her a note which said “think of this as a card ….” And yes, I know, it will be pricey to send but we learn over and over again that you get as much from giving as the recipient gets from the gift.
When at the end of one of those weeks when you think nothing else can go wrong, I lost my credit card, I had just found a pair of competitively priced solid winter shoes

not quite – but you know the kind of thing
which I didn’t want to lose. I explained to my son , would he buy them and I would pay him on receipt ? He said yes and did it, but when I raised the subject – he wrote and said “If I can have a moody holiday, you can have shoes – you don’t owe me anything. Shush mum, there’s a good girl … “ So I gulped, and wrote to say – I thought the holiday was well deserved, thank you for my Christmas present, I hold myself free to retaliate !
No matter your background, you chose to act out of it or against it and many of us do a bit of both. Occasionally I hear my fierce little mother issue from my lips, complete with intonation. One of the saddest things about abuse is that abusers were often abused in their turn. And then I’ve just read about the chief scout Dwayne Fields who without the personal charisma and commitment of his grandmother and his aunt when he was very young, had the kind of background where you wind up in prison, dead or addicted. Clearly not him .
I had a bad time at primary school – wrong face, wrong voice – until my father lifted me on to the kitchen table so I was closer to his big height, my mother to the side – and told me “Do whatever you have to do – your mother and I will back you. 200 per cent.” My mother nodded emphatically. And I fought back. I loved the generosity of the 200 per cent. Gift for life.

Thank you so much, Anna. Once again, a kindly, thoughtful and helpful piece. And reminding us that there is so much good around us. Sons can be beautiful gifts. I know how much I value mine. And schooldays? The day before I went to my primary school – I was the youngest by a year as I could read and write. Shock horror. She said – if they hit you, you hit back – as hard as you like. They won’t touch you again. She was right. Keep sharing.
I am genuinely quite envious of that level of parental support. An alcoholic mother and a father whose attitude towards me changed dramatically when I passed my 11+ examinations to go to Grammar School way back in 1972.
He had also passed the same exam in 1937 but his parents were poor and would not accept a second hand uniform donated by a local charity. Therefore he did not attend Grammar School and had to leave school to get a job at age 14.
Rather than be pleased at my passing the examination he turned very bitter, made even worse when my education advanced he was unable to help with my homework.
Our relationship declined dramatically when I was around 13 to 14 years old and never recovered. Snide comments about me being ‘Professor Piffle’ became the norm when I was studying for ‘O’ and subsequently ‘A’ levels.
My son who is now 29, has a good job and owns his own house was never an academic but had my support in everything he did and he is now a fine young man. I was always determined I would never repeat my father’s behaviour.
I do not think my father’s changing attitude to me affected my life as I had a very good career and am now happily retired.
I do however, think of the father I had before he changed and I miss that even now. The only casualty was the lack of a meaningful relation between father and son we had once shared and that saddens me.
Steve Martin
Dear Steve
thank YOU for the generosity of sharing your story.
And for reading annalog.
Anna.