Socks For Christmas

Socks.  That’s my grandmother’s idea of a good Christmas present.  Every year, that is what everyone gets.  Every year, always the same.  Socks.  Guaranteed I will get them this year, too.  Hanes crew cut socks, a size too big.  They are cheap, always on sale, and they come en masse.  The only thing worse than one pair of bad socks for Christmas, is a dozen pair of bad socks for Christmas.   Some Christmases, we even got two packs.  You could never tell which box was the socks box because she worked her hardest to trick you.  Sometimes it would be in an impossibly small box, so when you opened it they exploded out like Pillsbury canned biscuits. Sometimes it would be in a huge box- so you thought it was something awesome, only to find… Socks.

Now, its kind of a cute, quaint thing.  Its as much of a Christmas tradition as putting up a tree or my father (republican) and grandfather (democrat) talking politics, or my aunt showing up late for dinner.  Christmas just wouldn’t be the same without it.  When I was about thirteen, though, socks for Christmas was an affront.  That gift brought out the worst of us like nothing else, and I believe that my grandmother knew and delighted in this fact. 

My brother, a year younger than me, forced a thin lipped smile and said nothing upon opening his Christmas present.  His eyes would go dead, though, and it wasn’t hard to see his utter and complete disappointment. Sure enough, when he held up the present so everyone could see, it was socks. My little sister, who was youngest of the family merely looked at the ugly white socks she had received and pitched them aside with less enthusiasm then discarding the wrapping that they had come in. 

“Roxanne,” my father would say, quiet, dangerous, “what do you say?”

“Thanks,” she would mutter, looking about like she would cry. 

I, however, was the diplomat of the family and was old enough to understand that socks for Christmas was an inevitability like eggs or steamed broccoli.  Oh, sure, I smiled and acted excited to receive socks!  I can always use socks! But inside I was beyond disappointed-worse than my brother or sister.  How could she know me so little as to get me, not only socks, but those socks.  The heel never fit and pushed up over the back lip of my shoe.  Not only that, but they were embarrassingly unfashionable.  I was already teased in school for not wearing the right thing. Although bad socks couldn’t hurt that, it most certainly didn’t make things better.  Of all the things that could have been gotten for me- it was always socks.  Never a cell phone, or makeup or something that could bring life to my impossibly straight hair.

To make it worse, there was always that implied lecture that I should be grateful.  That some kids didn’t get anything or how when she was a kid all she wanted for Christmas was some candy or a bag of nuts.  My grandparents came from a rougher time in history.  Sometimes there wasn’t enough to eat, much less Christmas presents.  And then there were always the kids in Africa.  They probably didn’t even have Christmas.  It was an all-around unfair gift, meant to teach us humility and thankfulness during a time when everything depended on giving and getting the perfect thing. 

Of course, in November of this year I wasn’t thinking about all that. I was thinking about REI and about hiking because my REI membership points had just come in.  The boots I had gotten had been a bit of a disappointment when I took them on a 14 mile hiking trip in July.  I was just getting over the hammer toe in my right foot and was knocking my big toe on a sharp corner, thrilled that I could feel the pain again, while talking to my mother on the phone and playing on the computer. 

“Well, what do you and Sam want for Christmas?”  she asked, trying to capture my focus again.  Sam is my husband.  

“Just to see you and Dad.” I answered absently while scrolling through articles on how to prevent hammer toe and looking at the astronomical cost of new boots on REI.    

“Well, thank you, honey.  But really, what would you like?”  Suddenly, I ran across an article on REI that seemed like it might have the answer that would solve my problems.

“You know, mom, what I could really use is a good pair of socks.”