“What did you get mom for Christmas?” Such an innocent question provided years of laughter. Here’s the whole story.
Many know I come from a large family. I am the youngest of eight. Some siblings still treat me like the baby. Now that we are in the prime of our lives, I just remind them that I am younger than they are for revenge.
Buying Christmas gifts was difficult when I was a child. A kid like me couldn’t afford presents for everyone, not with only $10. My mother told me that I should buy something for her, dad, my youngest sister and my youngest brother. She reasoned that the others were working and had money to buy whatever they wanted for themselves.
Of course, I got lots of presents, which lead some to complain how spoiled I was. I really would have liked to have bought them all something, but getting four gifts with ten dollars was pretty difficult, let alone ten.
Dad was the easiest. He always got a pair of work socks. They were perfect. He could use them and they only cost ninety-nine cents.
My brother and sister usually got school supplies, like a nice pen. I could always get a hockey stick for my brother, too. Believe it or not, Kresge’s used to sell them for a dollar ninety-nine.
My mother’s four-dollar gift was the big challenge. Being the focal point of our family, everybody did their best to buy the perfect present, including me. I had to compete for my mom’s favour against siblings with more than twenty dollars to spend, a huge amount in those times.
I trundled off to Northtown Plaza in Willowdale searching for the perfect gift. I might as well have been looking for the Holy Grail. I went back and forth for hours in the U-shaped plaza more times than the number of “U”s in a Scrabble game. Everything was either too expensive or too tacky.
As the sun set, like in a cheap western, I was the cowboy looking for the loot. In Aitkenhead’s Hardware, a sympathetic saleswoman suggested that if I couldn’t afford quality, then I might try quantity. I could buy two two-dollar gifts instead of one for four dollars. Running out of options quickly, I snapped up the idea and skipped back home knowing my Christmas shopping was complete.
‘Twas the night before Christmas and the three youngest children were tucked into bed. My brother shared the room and my sister’s was nearby.
Barry asked, “What did you get mom for Christmas?”
“It’s a surprise,” I said.
“No, tell me what you got her. I won’t tell.”
“A natural sponge and an extension cord,” I replied.
As sudden as a wolf howling at the moon, he immediately started convulsing in laughter.
From the darkness, my sister Lorraine shouted, “Hey, what are you laughing at?”
Barry snorted, “Johnny bought mom a sponge and an extension cord for Christmas!”
“It’s a natural sponge,” I said, defending my purchase. It wasn’t merely one of those bright yellow blocks that fit the hand nicely. No, it was this novel brown blob of uneven pores that had once been a living creature.
Immediately my sister joined in the hysterical snorting. The din filtered downstairs where my mom was playing Santa, filling up our stockings with goodies.
The door going upstairs flew open and her voiced shrilled, “What’s everybody laughing at?”
My brother and sister chimed, “Your gift!”
I was trapped. There was nothing I could do. The hour of reckoning would come tomorrow when I would have to give my mother the two gifts.
In those days, nothing came packaged in boxes like today. Putting paper around an extension cord was difficult enough, but can you imagine trying to wrap a natural sponge? It was sort of round and squishy. Putting Scotch tape on it was like bouncing on a trampoline. It didn’t seem to stick very well.
First, I gave my mom the extension cord. My wrapping skills were not so great, so there was no surprise. She deftly removed the paper and remarked how this gleaming mixture of plastic and wire would be very useful around the house.
Next, she was presented with this red-papered glob. She looked at it and looked at me. She looked at it again and looked at me. It was soft to the touch. What could it be? She opened it, and then blurted, “A sponge!”
“A natural sponge,” I added, hoping to give added value to the gift.
“Oh, how interesting,” she said, trying her best to look happy with what I had given her.
A few years later, the natural sponge met its second death being sacrificed to my class of high school students putting on a United Appeal car wash.
The extension cord was a mystery for many years. Just before my mother died, we were in her apartment reminiscing about our lives together. I brought up how I had thought that nothing says loving like a sponge and extension cord and we both laughed. I apologized for destroying the natural sponge, but I asked her what ever happened to the extension cord.
“Move the couch,” she instructed.
I did and there it was, looking as new as the day it was bought. Through the years it had served her well.
When my mom passed away, I made sure I got that extension cord. In those days, they weren’t grounded, so it has been retired to a drawer in my workshop downstairs. Occasionally, while browsing around, I will catch sight of it. It will remind me of that special Christmas when a couple of not-so-perfect gifts brought laughter to our home for years to come. While they cost less than four dollars, they brought us more joy and laughter than any precious jewels ever could.