Now for the Disappointing Part by Steven Barker

Author:Steven Barker
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Skyhorse Publishing
Published: 2016-08-14T04:00:00+00:00

Christmas Cookies

When I was twelve years old, I shoveled driveways in the early weeks of winter to earn money to buy Christmas presents for my family. I decided that I was too old to give my mom a card made out of construction paper with a poorly drawn Santa Claus, and I could no longer get away with gifting my dad his own golf balls I’d stolen from his bag. My mom loved my sloppily decorated cards and put them on display above the fireplace until late spring, and my father appreciated the thought that went into my attempt at pawning off his personal belongings as a gift. But when my teens approached, I felt it was time I bought my family “real” presents.

I was proud on Christmas morning when I watched my mom open an eight-dollar bottle of perfume I bought at Canadian Tire.

“I think this is only for fancy occasions,” she said.

My dad seemed pleased with his golf-club-shaped soap-on-a-rope, and by the way he said, “Well done, son” as he put it aside with his other gifts, I could tell he was more pleased about the fact that I’d learned a lesson about money than he was happy about a piece of soap that boasted a fresh pine scent.

When I went off to college, all the money I made from odd jobs went to late-night pizza orders and bags of weed and when school broke for winter break I was always broke. It was uncomfortable to be gifted thoughtfully chosen books from friends and family, only to give a mix CD or coupon for five free driveway shovelings in return.

The first job I had after college that required a degree was in the financial department of a nonprofit. It was a three-month contract with the possibility of an extension. Before that, I’d been bouncing between warehouses and service industry jobs, which always brought on embarrassment when someone asked me what I did. “I kind of write,” I’d say. “Oh you mean, like, how do I pay the bills? I’m a pizza boy.”

In addition to having a piece of paper from a four-year college, the only other skills listed in the job description were typing, filing, and label making. I checked the box next to all three of those talents when I registered with the temp agency, and my recruiter thought I was “perfect” for the position.

I accepted when I learned the job paid a few dollars more than what I averaged delivering pizza. Relying on tips made every check unpredictable, so I could never make plans based on future earnings. Knowing the amount of my paycheck at the end of every week meant there was potential to redeem myself for the previous five years of poor gift giving. It had gotten so bad that my parents put my name on presents for my nephew. I was happy to know he wasn’t getting shortchanged because of a deadbeat uncle, but when my sister would tell him to thank me

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