Even though it feels like Thanksgiving was just yesterday, we’re now on the tail end of the holiday season. Oh, the stress of finding that perfect gift for loved ones and friends! Hopefully you’ve succeeded this year.
I should point out that a tangible gift isn’t always necessary to show your affection for someone. The thought certainly can count in some instances. Especially when the gesture is from the heart. But every now and again, giving or doing something unexpected can make a huge impact on someone’s life. A “wow” gift, if you will. Sort of like a new-car-in-the-driveway-with-a-bow-on-it present that seems so easy to pull off in car commercials.
I remember one such “wow” gift when I was nine years old. Except the “wow” gift was for my neighbor, B, a boy about two years older than me. That Christmas, B got one heck of a surprise present from his parents, Mr. and Mrs. P. (We actually called them that, by the way.).
B’s “wow” gift was something just about every kid would probably love. I’m sure I would’ve. But as a grown-up who values control and generally—OK, overwhelmingly—dislikes surprises, grown-up Steph wouldn’t have had the same reaction to B’s “wow” gift as childhood Steph did. Timing, like many things in life, is everything. Which brings me to today’s life lesson: while some surprises can catch you off guard, the act of being open to unexpected surprises can create opportunities for joy and wonder. Of course, when those surprises are done in the right way.
Here’s my story…
Food for thought
I grew up in a bucolic, suburban neighborhood. The P’s were our neighbors who lived diagonally across the street.
I don’t know who moved into the neighborhood first but since both my mom and Mrs. P were teachers who loved making nutritious meals, they became fast friends. Because she was a constant fixture in our lives and had no daughters of her own, Mrs. P was sort of like a second mother to me—though without any real maternal oversight. It was a great arrangement for us all, I’m sure.
In comparison to Mrs. P’s friendly nature, her husband, Mr. P was more mysterious. A quiet man, Mr. P was of Swedish descent and sported a crewcut. Unlike my dad, who was out of the house by seven, Mr. P cooked family breakfasts before work and school. The meals often involved more hardy fare like salmon fillets or meatballs. (I know this because Mrs. P taught at the high school and we met at the P’s house for a ride.) Whether it was the crewcut, serving dinner-for-breakfast, or something else, I found the enigmatic Mr. P fascinating. He was also the one who picked out B’s Christmas gift that year.
A gift that, in a way, would change all of our lives.
Oh, paw-lease!
That Christmas, B was getting a very special present—a dog. The only problem was there was no place to hide a Brittany spaniel puppy named Ginger in the P’s house. Enter our family, the kindly neighbors. Because Mrs. P and my mom were such good friends, my mom accepted—probably begrudgingly—a request to hide Ginger at our house the week before Christmas.
There’s one sidebar I need to insert here about Ginger’s brief stay with us. For years—as in my entire life—my mother claimed that my father was allergic to fur. That was the reason why we never got a pet, other than an all-too-brief foray with goldfish won at a county fair. Yet when Ginger appeared, my father didn’t devolve into sneezes, watery eyes, or any other “allergic” symptoms.
While I was still blissfully naïve, it took only a few moments for my eagle-eyed sister to notice that my dad was perfectly fine as he roughhoused with Ginger. I still remember how my sister quizzically looked at my father, then stared my mother dead in the eyes and announced, “Daddy’s not allergic to fur!” My father’s smile vanished, and my mother’s eyes widened in surprise. She was busted.
My sister and I surely railed against the injustices of my mom’s lying for several minutes. And I’m sure she had no valid defense that would satisfy our fury.
Fortunately for my mother, Ginger’s insistent yelping helped distract us from continuing our wrath.
Besides, we could hound my mom—pun intended?—about her lie once Ginger moved back across the street after Christmas.
But let’s get back to the story.
Lucky puppy
Ginger was an adorable, feisty puppy. My sister and I loved arranging and rearranging the pile of blankets that we used as Ginger’s bed. We took turns sitting in a large cardboard box that was positioned at one edge of the kitchen. The box was both a barrier from Ginger roaming around our house and a barrier for two girls who were slightly afraid of an active puppy. Ginger sure could jump.
I don’t recall ever taking Ginger for a walk or doing anything remotely responsible for having a dog. In fact, the bulk of Ginger’s care fell squarely on my mother’s shoulders. But it sure was nice having a dog. Even if it was only temporarily.
Soon enough, our week with Ginger ended. Early on Christmas morning, Mr. P came to our house and collected Ginger before B came down to open his presents.
Letting the cat dog out of the bag
B had wanted a dog, and when he asked for one, Mr. and Mrs. P must’ve listened. Unlike my parents. But B didn’t know that his wish would be granted that Christmas. I wish I could’ve seen how B reacted when he first laid eyes on Ginger.
Always a writer, I imagined the “Ginger reveal” scene in my head. I envisioned the P’s Christmas tree stationed prominently in their living room, its twinkly lights visible as you came downstairs. There were probably some presents—but nothing too over-the-top—scattered underneath the tree. Mr. P would’ve given Mrs. P a sensible gift like a kitchen utensil (she loved cooking), and Mr. P would’ve gotten something related to fishing or camping.
But how would Ginger make her entrance? I wondered. Would they hide Ginger in a big box, and then she’d jump out when B opened it? Unrealistic for jumpy Ginger, though that would’ve worked if it were a movie. I imagined that while B was unwrapping his other, “not ‘wow’ gifts” (maybe a pair of wool socks?), Mr. P would bring out Ginger. B’s face would light up upon the recognition that he just got a dog, and then Ginger would jump on B and start licking him. Yes. That sounded right to me.
I’m sure that no matter how Ginger met B, it would’ve been an unbelievable surprise. What kid wouldn’t want a dog as their present? “Wow” gifts don’t really get much better than that.
Later that day, we all went over to the P’s house to visit Ginger. B proudly showed off his new dog to my sister and me. We both shared in B’s excitement, though ours was tinged with sadness. We knew that our week with Ginger was probably the first and last time we would have a dog. At least in my parent’s house. (My sister now has a dog and a cat. No fur allergies, just lots of fur everywhere.)
Bow wow
For all the years of her existence, my sister and I viewed Ginger as part of our extended family. For us, Ginger was the pet we never had. Though I’m sure we received plenty of great surprise presents during our childhoods—and no offense to my incredibly generous parents—but I’m sure they never topped a dog “wow” gift.
As it turns out, when compared to sadness, happiness, fear, anger, or any of the other “big” emotions, surprise has… well…a surprisingly strong influence on your everyday life. Surprises can be good or not-so-good—like running into an old friend or receiving bad news.
Of course, the positive surprises are more welcomed. Like B getting Ginger for Christmas or someone other than me unloading the dishwasher. Fine. I’m still waiting for that one to happen.
But surprises in life are inevitable. Despite the desire to control every situation, it can serve you well to be flexible when the unexpected happens. Or at least try. (Yes, this is more of a message from me to me.)
So lean into those unforeseen events that give you joy. It can help give perspective to the events with outcomes you didn’t hope for. Being able to cope and respond in different situations—both happy and sad—is what helps us move forward. Consider finding healthy ways to surprise yourself, or at least be more open to surprises. I know I should do more of that.
When you do, at least according to researchers, you’ll likely bring more vitality and happiness into your life and those whom you care about. Though if anyone in my family is reading this, please do not surprise me with a dog. Let’s start with non-living surprises first.
Have you ever had a surprise that changed your life for the better? Please share your stories with me in the comments section.
