Colored Pencils

Well used pencils

The Out-of-State-Daughter has been a teensy frustrated over the non-arrival of the birthday gifts she sent.

It has reminded me of the year of the colored pencils.  In my growing up years, school always started the day after Labor Day, which meant my birthday was somewhere in that all-exciting first week of school.  I am the third of 7 children.  Lots of siblings going back to school, as cheaply as my parents could manage.  Poor often seemed a step above our means.

When I was maybe 6 or 7 my birthday consisted of a box of (unwrapped) colored pencils.  All my parents could afford - at least that's what I always assumed. (Wrapping paper was a luxury that never appeared in our household.) Of all the things I might have chosen in that particular price range, colored pencils wouldn't even have appeared on the list.

It took me probably 25 years  - maybe even more - to let go of those pencils - literally as well as emotionally.  They somehow embodied a lack of love on the part of my parents. They loomed large as an example of how little I meant.  And I could hardly bear to use them.  I'm not sure they ever even needed sharpening.

The ensuing years have been filled with more gifts and care lavished on me than I could ever deserve.  I will never know - or likely understand - what prompted the gift of the colored pencils.  I finally (and w-a-y too late) concluded that it never mattered.

The actual gift isn't important.  What matters is that someone likes/loves/cares enough to spend some time thinking about you.  About what might please you. And to let you know you're valuable - just because of who you are. I have felt that many times since that long ago birthday.

So, Daughter (and any other of my children who fuss over gifts for me), don't fret at all.  Just save a hug for the next time we see you.  Keep in touch. Let love flow freely between us.  And that will be just fine.