I am typically not a Christmas-y person.  In fact, more than one co-worker has referred to me as Ms. Scrooge over the years.  But this season, I’m suddenly in the holiday spirit.

I caught myself humming Christmas music this morning, and telling K we needed to go buy more decorations.  We’re going to a cookie swap on Sunday and I can barely contain myself.  #whothehellami  Maybe, after a rough and tumultuous 2017, we all just need some holiday spirit.

Whatever the cause, I wanted to share more of the joy of the holidays this season.  As I’ve mentioned before, I flipping love giving gifts.  I love it way more than receiving gifts.  There is nothing like the moment when you know you’ve gotten someone the perfect present, except the moment when they open it and for just a few minutes feel like someone gets them.

So I started asking my friends, “What’s the best gift you’ve ever received, and what’s the best gift you’ve ever given?”  The answers were so wonderful, I decided to turn them into a blog feature, starting with my own answers.

My brother, Ryan, and I are almost six years apart in age, so we didn’t spend much time together growing up.  When I moved to D.C., I was 22, and he was a high-school sophomore.  That first year in D.C. was so hard — the culture shock, the work hours, the bad weather.  I wanted to come home almost every day.  So when I traveled to my grandparents for Christmas that year, I was really in need of some family time.

Ryan and I didn’t usually exchange gifts.  We weren’t particularly close, and neither of us had much money.  But that year, after all the presents were passed out, Ryan reached in his pocket and pulled out a tiny box for me.

I was so touched that I was tearing up before I even opened it.  I couldn’t believe he had bought me a gift, and wrapped it.  And there inside…a lump of coal.

I laughed so hard.  In fact, my whole family was laughing so hard that we could barely breathe.  It was the perfect gift because it was perfectly him.  My bratty baby brother had given me a lump of coal.  I still have it.  I’ll probably always have it.

My Dad is one of those people that you.cannot.flipping.shop.for.  Nothing is right.  Nothing is what he wanted.  If he wanted that, he’d just go out and buy it himself.  So unless there are keys to a Shelby Mustang in that shoebox, he’s not interested.

It’s not that he’s trying to be ungrateful (though he totally is being ungrateful), it’s just that in the moment before you open up a present, there’s so much hope.  Hope that you’ll see the gift and think, “This is exactly what I wanted.”  And that, in that moment, you’ll feel like the giver really knows you.  Because “hard to shop for” people don’t want gift cards, or vanilla-scented candles, or slipper socks.  They just want a thoughtful gift that says, “I love you, and I get you.”

How do I know?  Because I’m the same way.

When I was a child, my Dad had a chess set from the Franklin Mint where the figures were generals from the Civil War.  He’d mentioned once there was another chess set featuring the Battle of Waterloo, and that he wished that he had the pair.  So one Christmas, after years of Barnes & Noble gift cards, I decided to track that chess set down.

I have never been so excited to give a gift in my life.  I knew from the moment I found it that this gift was perfect.  I mailed it to my grandparents house, and was calling every day to see if it arrived.  Finally, after like a week, my Grandma Carol called to tell me that it was there and “I could stop calling, now.”

Christmas Eve rolled around and it was time to open presents.  Everyone was in my Grandma’s living room with a small pile of gifts in front of them, and our tradition was that we went around the circle, each opening one at a time.  I was so excited, I demanded he open the chess set first, but my Grandma insisted we do “the big presents last.”  So there I was bursting at the seams for like an hour waiting for him to open it.

Finally, we’re all down to the last gift, and my Dad is looking positively dejected.  He’d gotten a sweater, some slippers, a book, the usual “why can’t you be easier to shop for” gifts.  So when he broke out his pocket knife to open my gift his face read, “Let’s get this over with.”  But as he cut back the cardboard and bubble wrap, his expression changed from frustration to confusion to utter and complete shock.

For five minutes, he just sat there with the chess set out on the table in front of him, staring at it.  Suddenly, my Grandma shouted in her Minnesota accent, “Well, do you like it?!”  And he looked right at me, completely dumbfounded, and said, “I love it.”

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