A Tradition of Trash
by Annette Kenney
The holidays are a time for family traditions – some good, some bad, and some just plain weird. Every family has its own traditions that create and carry years of memories. When I married David, I was determined to make a new life for the two of us and create our own special holiday traditions.
I hadn’t counted on the influence of my in-laws.
The first Christmas after we were married, we were visiting his parents. I didn’t know his family as well as I would come to in later years, and wasn’t sure what to expect from them. We were having a great time opening presents and enjoying time together, when my father-in-law handed me a box. “We got you something for your kitchen,” he told me.
Well, I thought, that was good. We didn’t have much when we got married and still needed a lot of things. I eagerly tore off the gift wrap, opened the box and…stared. I had never been trained in the art of homemaking and household decorating, but even I knew that staring back up at me, nestled cozily in a protective nest of tissue paper, was easily the ugliest piece of pottery I had ever seen. It was supposed to be a water pitcher. Its base color was a dirty cream, but painted on it were neon-green elephants, bright orange camels, and puce dogs. I don’t think a more atrocious piece of pottery could have been created on purpose.
For a brief moment, my west-coast upbringing was rebelling frantically inside my head as I stared at my smiling in-laws with their deep Appalachian roots. “What have you done?!!?” that nagging voice was screaming. “Are these people serious? Are you expected to actually LIKE this thing?” They seemed to be quite pleased with themselves and their gift.
I pasted a sickly smile on my face in return and pulled out all my skills in creative dissembling. I praised that thing, lying loathsomely there on my lap, until I was sure I was going to go to hell for telling that many flat-out lies in a row. I must have done a good job, because my mother-in-law got an odd look on her face. Finally I caught a twinkle in my father-in-law’s eyes and then he burst out laughing. Clearly he had caught me in an excellent joke and was extremely proud of himself. “Thank heavens!” I thought. “I don’t have to like this thing!” My mother-in-law told me later, “You really had me worried, Annette. I thought you actually liked that pitcher!”
That was the first of many Christmas gag gifts, and a tradition was born. My father-in-law spent a lot of time and effort every year at countless flea markets, goodwill shops, and yard sales searching for just the perfect piece of useless trash to give me for Christmas. The uglier it was, the better. One year I got a pair of coconuts, carved to resemble monkeys. (Where he found carved coconuts in West Virginia, I’ll never know.) Another year was a little ceramic figurine of a biker complete with a bandana and a tattoo. And after he found out how much I dislike plastic flamingo lawn ornaments, I got several items with the flamingo theme figuring prominently. It wasn’t enough that he spent time searching for this useless junk, but often he would drag his preacher friends with him when he would go visit them. On more than one occasion I have had his friends ask me how I liked the latest piece of ugly junk, and then explain in great detail how Warren had bought it while visiting them and how much time he had spent finding it.
Although he put so much time and effort into searching all the finest junk shops for my special gift, occasionally his hard work would backfire. A couple times over the years he would buy something for me early in the year and store it on the shelf in his office until Christmas time. The longer it would stay there, the more it grew on him, until he couldn’t bear to part with it and would have to go back out in search of another piece of trash. One such piece my husband and I fondly call, “The Seduction of Art”. It’s supposed to be a rabbit, made mainly out of clamshells. It’s standing on its hind feet (also clamshells) holding a plastic carrot and wearing glasses made from the rings from the pull tabs on cans. He fell in love with it and kept it for himself. It occupied a prominent place in his office for years and I never knew until after he died that it was originally intended to be one of my prize possessions.
For twenty-two years I got these treasures from him. I kept every one of them. They aren’t stored where anyone can see them, exactly, but I have all of them. Opening my “special” gift came to be a highlight of every Christmas. I got other gifts I needed more, and were certainly worth more, but I came to understand the love and good humor behind the special gifts. The most valuable part of the gift was the time and effort made to get me that special piece of junk.
The twenty-third Christmas was an extremely difficult one. Earlier that year my father-in-law had been diagnosed with a brain tumor. Although he had had it surgically removed, and had undergone radiation and chemotherapy, by Christmas he was in a nursing home and unable to take care of even the most basic of his personal needs. Within another two weeks he would be gone, leaving a gaping hole in our hearts. For the first year since I had been married to his son, there was no “special” gift waiting for me under the tree.
My sister-in-law, a talented nurse, had spent countless hours caring for him after his surgery and helping him with everything she could, including shopping. When I mentioned to her how much I was going to miss the thrill of discovering what garbage he had gotten for me, her eyes lit up. “Oh, I forgot! With everything that has been going on, it just slipped my mind. He didn’t forget you.” She ran to her parents’ bedroom and rummaged around in the closet for a moment. She came out carrying a plastic bag with something stuffed in it. “This isn’t wrapped or anything, but he told me to make sure you got this, just in case he couldn’t give it to you personally.”
With an overflowing heart, I gingerly opened the bag. Inside…was a stuffed toy flamingo.
It is sitting in a prominent place of honor in my living room, on my bookshelf where it will remain, accompanied by “The Seduction of Art”.
Nothing says “I love you” like carefully chosen trash.
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