She was a struggling single mother of three in the 1970s and, like any mother, wanted to fulfill her children's appallingly superficial wish lists. So, if that meant going into debt until April, she would do that. If it meant putting something on layaway at Marshalls until she made enough tips as a hostess to pay for it, she would do that too.
It was a peculiar sensation for her children because we really wanted the NuttyButty baseball and the Weebles Playhouse and a pogo stick that was all the rage, but we knew our mother couldn't afford it. We knew because when we opened these barely-paid-for gifts, and expressed our delight, my mother would pipe up, "Well, you should love them. I'll be paying for them until next spring."
So, yes, I felt guilty. But I also got the pogo stick.
I'm thinking about my mother this Christmas when so many Americans are struggling to afford their food bill, their outrageous electric bills and the cost to have a roof over their heads. Here's where the maternal hunger to please a child can get scrambled in the nettlesome vines and thorns of finance that enlace us today.
A new survey from the nonprofit DataHaven finds that more people in Connecticut are worse off financially than they were a year ago. The survey of 7,458 adults reported that 40% of us are struggling financially. To no one's surprise, housing and food costs pinch the most. The number of adults who say they don't have enough money to pay for adequate housing jumped to the highest level DataHaven has ever recorded: 12%, the New Haven Register reported.
When you can't pay the electric bill, how do you rationalize buying the train set for your son who seems to mention it between every forkful? What's it like if you know you won't be able to pay for that? How often do you envision the disappointed face of your son on Christmas morning?
About 40 years ago, when I worked in Norwich, I met a woman staring into the window of a store that sold cheap plastic toys. Norwich was then suffering from the effects of heroin addiction, deinstitutionalization and the loss of its once-mighty textile mills. The woman said to me that all her son wanted was that little airplane on the back shelf but he wasn't going to get it this year. I subsequently discovered where the woman lived and, perhaps foolishly, bought the toy and brought it to her apartment building, which was, as my father used to say, "One of those places where you feel you should wipe your feet when you leave." I was disappointed the woman wasn't in. It wasn't just that I wanted to be a little heroine that day. It was also that I wanted to give her hope. I wanted to tell her that things would not always be that bad. I was 23. I believed that then. I'm not sure I believe that now. Things can always get materially worse.
And they are getting worse as inflation squeezes not just the cash flow out of our citizens but that relentless desire to please, gratify and slake the needs of those we love. A survey by BankRate finds that one in four Americans say they will be going into debt this holiday season. That's on top of the 50% of Americans who say they are still paying off debt from last year's holidays, according to WalletHub. Some 30% expect to deepen their debt and 48% are planning to max out cards, according to CreditCards.com.
I wish I could say to them, "Please don't do it. It's just not worth it". But love doesn't pay attention to interest rates or penalty fees. Worse, we live in a society that valorizes products and undervalues emotion. We have bought in to the consumerist mindset. Our kids have bought into it. We even spend more money on our pets than people in less developed countries spend on food. I wish I were the kind of child who could have told her mother, "No, mom, let's just sit down and have you play the guitar and sing 'Oh holy night.'" It grieves me that I was not that kind of a child because if childhood in America teaches us anything it is envy. We want what the other kids have. We want it as an imprimatur that we are loved and as an endorsement of our inherent value. We want to be like all the other kids.
It's stunning to me now that outside of that pogo stick, I don't remember much at all about the gifts I received. What I remember is the smell of turkey and baked ziti and frosted anisette cookies. I remember watching my mother tie string around thin slices of beef and knot them to make the braciole. I remember her singing along to Nat King Cole's "Adeste Fideles" and thinking: Do all mothers sing this well or did I just get lucky?
It is likely impossible to bleed consumerism out of our children. I nevertheless believe we can make them aware of our sacrifice, as my mother did, if only to demonstrate to them that all love demands sacrifice. When they are older, we can gift them real wisdom, which is that love comes without a price tag.