All that my oldest son wants for Christmas is a Transformer, and not just any Transformer; he wants the Transformers Cybertron Leader - Optimus Prime, seen by him only on a collection poster acquired in Sweden about ½ year ago. (The mind & memory of a 5-year old is indeed amazing.) This fantastic toy is available - as far as we’ve managed to find out – on special order only from the US, the UK or Germany for about 95€ (cheaper via Amazon in the UK but then it wouldn’t make it here for Christmas). Seeing that we have very sparse finances this Christmas, this is an unaffordable prize.
The Husband is going into Brussels later this week to see if he can find it there, for less. If he is unsuccessful, I’m not sure what we’ll do. I try to put this whole matter into perspective: there are so many children out there that never have anything; neither food nor clothes, and therefore my son should be grateful - we should all be – for being able to celebrate Christmas at all. It should not matter that we can’t buy our children specific toys.
When I was little, my brother & I usually got the most amazing gifts for Christmas. My family was upper
middle class; not poor, but not excessively rich either, and both parents came from economically underprivileged families, which meant we never received gifts outside an occasion. Then, however, we would often be privileged, and for Christmas in particular, Santa brought us gifts we had never even dreamt of asking for. I must have been about 9 when I received my very own new modern record-player with huge speakers to put in my room. The present I received from Santa was actually just a record, Peter Cetera’s “Glory of Love”, and at first I thought it was a joke, but then my father told me it actually came with stereo equipment and I didn’t believe him. Another year I got skies & boots; at the time a very expensive gift. I did not always expect the most fantastic gift, but my brother & I knew that our wish lists to Santa Claus would usually compare roughly to what we actually got. Except for one year; it was the year my mother spent the 2 weeks before Christmas at a women’s conference in Stockholm. I had asked for a Barbie bride and nothing else. I was only 5 years old but I knew it was more than doable for my parents. However, come Christmas, inspired by the 1970’s feminist idea “give boys dolls and girls toy cars” my mother had decided at the very last minute NOT to get me that Barbie, but a stuffed dog instead. I never particularly cared for dogs, and I hated that dog. Just thinking about it still puts a lump in my throat.
In sum; I understand that this is a privileged dilemma that I am struggling with, but I want my boys to enjoy Christmas as I did when I was little, and, if possible, avoid a stuffed dog trauma.
By Lovain
The Husband is going into Brussels later this week to see if he can find it there, for less. If he is unsuccessful, I’m not sure what we’ll do. I try to put this whole matter into perspective: there are so many children out there that never have anything; neither food nor clothes, and therefore my son should be grateful - we should all be – for being able to celebrate Christmas at all. It should not matter that we can’t buy our children specific toys.
When I was little, my brother & I usually got the most amazing gifts for Christmas. My family was upper
middle class; not poor, but not excessively rich either, and both parents came from economically underprivileged families, which meant we never received gifts outside an occasion. Then, however, we would often be privileged, and for Christmas in particular, Santa brought us gifts we had never even dreamt of asking for. I must have been about 9 when I received my very own new modern record-player with huge speakers to put in my room. The present I received from Santa was actually just a record, Peter Cetera’s “Glory of Love”, and at first I thought it was a joke, but then my father told me it actually came with stereo equipment and I didn’t believe him. Another year I got skies & boots; at the time a very expensive gift. I did not always expect the most fantastic gift, but my brother & I knew that our wish lists to Santa Claus would usually compare roughly to what we actually got. Except for one year; it was the year my mother spent the 2 weeks before Christmas at a women’s conference in Stockholm. I had asked for a Barbie bride and nothing else. I was only 5 years old but I knew it was more than doable for my parents. However, come Christmas, inspired by the 1970’s feminist idea “give boys dolls and girls toy cars” my mother had decided at the very last minute NOT to get me that Barbie, but a stuffed dog instead. I never particularly cared for dogs, and I hated that dog. Just thinking about it still puts a lump in my throat.In sum; I understand that this is a privileged dilemma that I am struggling with, but I want my boys to enjoy Christmas as I did when I was little, and, if possible, avoid a stuffed dog trauma.
By Lovain
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