The gift

 “The best gifts for mothers-in-law.”

I typed this into the search engine and waited. In short order, a few bazillion sponsored links cascaded down the screen.

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I was not disappointed. There wasn’t anything that screamed “revenge gift,” which had worried me a bit as I mulled over the wording I had keyed in at the onset, feeling a little remorseful that the qualifier – in-law – still seemed appropriate and necessary.

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I didn’t think my giftee would be disappointed, either. The selection available ran the gamut between tasteful and classic to playful and zany: There were stylish grippy-soled slippers; a plush robe with safe, sedate color options. Of course, I clicked away from all of those to read more about a green plastic pill case that looks as if it had been molded from an actual pea pod. But I came to my senses soon enough.

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After flirting with the idea for a few moments before abandoning the fake “produce” in my “virtual” cart, I move on to explore the endless array of things no one really needs that, sadly, in the moment in which we find ourselves, may be made entirely of A.I.

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Which is why I tend to feel a little adrift as I wade through all the well-meaning gift guides that media and moguls alike churn out at this time of year. Because the best gifts … we all know … require we know a little more about a person than their age, gender, and place in the family hierarchy.

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We need to know and care about who they are and what they mean to us. We might have to pull out an old story or an inside joke. We have to make a connection.

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Every part of me knows this as I peruse the guides, hoping to find an item that will somehow show my investment in the thought, and not just a brightly decorated box I would hand over like collateral.

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That’s when I happened upon a piece in the New York Times that had collected hundreds of stories from readers about their favorite or most memorable gifts. It was a delightful read that gleaned sweet little snippets, telling of prized memories more than it described mere possessions.

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It reminded me of the Swiss Army knife my father gave me for my college graduation. It was the only thing I wanted for Christmas, or maybe it was for my Birthday, when I was seven. I don’t really remember. I just know from the note that came with it that my father never forgot: “Congratulations on your graduation! You are old enough and wise enough for this now.”

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It also reminded me of the year my sister had handed me a triple-digit gift card for a national coffee purveyor I liked, saying, “Here. This is all I’m doing this year.”  That was the year I thought of her, and said a silent “Thanks, Sis,” every time I needed a little caffeinated pick-me-up.

I know it doesn't have to be a grand gesture.

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And it could be that I buy the slippers that look stylish, but know that the real gift will be the laughter as we sit around after our holiday meal and swap stories of our favorite gifts.