THE RED BICYCLE
We were making the long six and a half drive back to our home at the end of a long weekend spending Thanksgiving with my husband's large family. The children were asleep or occupied the time with a book to while away a lull in conversation. I was quietly mulling over an idea that kept swimming in my head. My husband's younger brother had moved to Idaho and started a job repairing household appliances and money was tight for them. Their three-year old daughter wanted a bicycle for Christmas and my mother-in-law lamented that they did not have enough funds to cover this wish. So I was thinking about getting her the bicycle myself.
Images of different bicycles popped in my head and then Christmas morning at that household in Idaho when the pretty little girl wakes up and sees a beautiful red bike next to the tree. No, make that pink. Or maybe purple. I imagined little Ceci happy and excited. It made me happy to think about it. All I wanted to do was make her happy and feel loved. I wanted to be her doting 'aunt' even if in American culture, I am not really an aunt. In my culture, I would be real family. Perhaps if I showed generosity and thoughtfulness, it will make up for the geographical distance between her family and ours. I wanted to love her. I wanted to be the kind of 'aunt' who would always be there for her. I started to feel joy anticipating her excitement....and a possible meaningful relationship with her and her siblings. And it can start with a red bike.
My thoughts were jolted by a sudden remark from my husband who had been driving in deep thought.
"I have an idea. Let's get Ceci a nice, shiny new bike!"
I was startled. He and I were having parallel thoughts.
"I was just thinking the same thing! Now, how shall we accomplish this?"
"Well, we can just order the bike off a catalogue, pay for it and then have it shipped to Idaho."
Again, there was thoughtful silence. I began to think about logistics.
"Shall we send a card with it? Like...'Merry Christmas with love from Uncle and Auntie'"?
There was a long pause.
"I don't think we should let them know the bike came from us. I think we should send it anonymously."
"Why?"
"Well, I have a feeling they might take offense. It occurred to me that they will for sure question our motivations. They will think that we are trying to outshine their gifts."
"How are we going to do that? I mean, obviously the bike is going to come from Nevada. That's a dead give-away!"
"Not if we order it from out of state!"
There was another long pause. We were both having the same fears.
"Why can't we just give without having to worry about this?"
"You know how my family thinks. They'll just take this badly. We'd be showing off!"
I knew in my heart that he was right. We were doing very well. Perhaps better than all his siblings. We had more than we needed and we were desperate to share. But lost in our thoughts, giving became more complicated.
"What if we just send a gift certificate for a bike?"
"What's the difference? It'll still be a bike. It'll still be a present."
My mind began to spin.
"If we make sure the store doesn't place a gift receipt or any information in the box that would trace it to us, do you think they'd know it came from us?"
"Yes. They would put two and two together. And they wouldn't take it the way we want them to take it. That's the fear."
I now had a different image in my head. I could see her mother pouting and saying, "who do they think they are?" I could see that it might be more fodder for gossip and innuendo. Something fierce churned in my stomach. I knew it. It would not be a good idea. Then a sudden sadness seized me. I can never be that doting aunt. Never. Not to Ceci or her siblings. Tears began to roll down my cheeks. I felt frustrated. Subverted. Foiled. There was a long silence again.
"It was a bad idea."
"Yeah. I think we should forget it."
We talked more about our frustration...and sadness. Why does it have to be so complicated?
In the ensuing years, we would become less and less involved with their family. I learned that giving is a very complicated matter. Growing up in a more open and demonstrative family, I simply did not consider that giving could cause so much turmoil and complications. Where I grew up, giving was simply that. And even if there was a sordid motivation, the gift was appreciated anyway because giving was de rigueur.
Needless to say, by the time we arrived home that November day, the excitement about the red bike wore off and we never discussed it again.
Images of different bicycles popped in my head and then Christmas morning at that household in Idaho when the pretty little girl wakes up and sees a beautiful red bike next to the tree. No, make that pink. Or maybe purple. I imagined little Ceci happy and excited. It made me happy to think about it. All I wanted to do was make her happy and feel loved. I wanted to be her doting 'aunt' even if in American culture, I am not really an aunt. In my culture, I would be real family. Perhaps if I showed generosity and thoughtfulness, it will make up for the geographical distance between her family and ours. I wanted to love her. I wanted to be the kind of 'aunt' who would always be there for her. I started to feel joy anticipating her excitement....and a possible meaningful relationship with her and her siblings. And it can start with a red bike.
My thoughts were jolted by a sudden remark from my husband who had been driving in deep thought.
"I have an idea. Let's get Ceci a nice, shiny new bike!"
I was startled. He and I were having parallel thoughts.
"I was just thinking the same thing! Now, how shall we accomplish this?"
"Well, we can just order the bike off a catalogue, pay for it and then have it shipped to Idaho."
Again, there was thoughtful silence. I began to think about logistics.
"Shall we send a card with it? Like...'Merry Christmas with love from Uncle and Auntie'"?
There was a long pause.
"I don't think we should let them know the bike came from us. I think we should send it anonymously."
"Why?"
"Well, I have a feeling they might take offense. It occurred to me that they will for sure question our motivations. They will think that we are trying to outshine their gifts."
"How are we going to do that? I mean, obviously the bike is going to come from Nevada. That's a dead give-away!"
"Not if we order it from out of state!"
There was another long pause. We were both having the same fears.
"Why can't we just give without having to worry about this?"
"You know how my family thinks. They'll just take this badly. We'd be showing off!"
I knew in my heart that he was right. We were doing very well. Perhaps better than all his siblings. We had more than we needed and we were desperate to share. But lost in our thoughts, giving became more complicated.
"What if we just send a gift certificate for a bike?"
"What's the difference? It'll still be a bike. It'll still be a present."
My mind began to spin.
"If we make sure the store doesn't place a gift receipt or any information in the box that would trace it to us, do you think they'd know it came from us?"
"Yes. They would put two and two together. And they wouldn't take it the way we want them to take it. That's the fear."
I now had a different image in my head. I could see her mother pouting and saying, "who do they think they are?" I could see that it might be more fodder for gossip and innuendo. Something fierce churned in my stomach. I knew it. It would not be a good idea. Then a sudden sadness seized me. I can never be that doting aunt. Never. Not to Ceci or her siblings. Tears began to roll down my cheeks. I felt frustrated. Subverted. Foiled. There was a long silence again.
"It was a bad idea."
"Yeah. I think we should forget it."
We talked more about our frustration...and sadness. Why does it have to be so complicated?
In the ensuing years, we would become less and less involved with their family. I learned that giving is a very complicated matter. Growing up in a more open and demonstrative family, I simply did not consider that giving could cause so much turmoil and complications. Where I grew up, giving was simply that. And even if there was a sordid motivation, the gift was appreciated anyway because giving was de rigueur.
Needless to say, by the time we arrived home that November day, the excitement about the red bike wore off and we never discussed it again.
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