My Husband Sucked at Gift Giving

Gift-giving wasn't his strong suit. I fell in love with my husband at first sight when I was 10 years old, and have remained so seven years after his death. We had a close, loving relationship for 45 years, BUT, the man sucked at gift-giving.

His idea of a gift was to tell me to buy what I wanted. It blew the romantic notion of a surprise silver box wrapped in a glowing red ribbon presented to me in bed after a steamy session of lovemaking right out of the water. (Although that is how he gave me my engagement ring, I think I'll keep that story to myself.)

His excuse was that he worked long hours in the retail business, so he didn't have time to shop - he was the one running the store while everyone else was shopping. (This was decades before Amazon and online shopping.)

There were two reasons I put up with this lame excuse. One was that I adored him. The second was that it allowed me, through the years, to buy myself some lovely jewelry pieces exactly suited to my taste.

Then one day, after 36 years of "Buy what you want" statements for birthdays, anniversaries, and Chanukahs, he redeemed himself in just one afternoon with a gift that meant more to me than anything he could have picked out himself in the 36 previous years. This gift and how it was presented will be as big a surprise to you as it was to me. But a little background first.

I come from a long line of short women. I shot up to 5' tall at the age of 11, and I managed to squeak out another ¾" in the next year, but that was it. Done.

My 6' tall husband thought I was the cutest little thing he had ever seen. It stoked his ego to reach for items for me that were beyond the first shelf of anything.

Long before Ring Doorbells, mounted cameras, cell phone cameras, and Alexa announcements, our main home safety feature was a small round glass window embedded into the front door, known as a "peephole".

He thought it was hilarious that I needed a stool to reach the front door's "peephole" to see who had rung the bell - until he didn't.

We had just moved from Boston to Florida and built a beautiful new house in a gated community. But there were problems. It was during the housing boom of 2008, and people were buying up houses, not to live in the community, but for rental income. Unfortunately, these owners were not properly vetting their renters and serious safety issues arose.

With neighbors of questionable backgrounds and workers coming and going everywhere, while many houses were still being built, Sid was worried about me being home alone. He insisted that we keep a stool at the front door, so I could stand on it and see through the peephole before opening the door.

One afternoon, I had a lot of grocery shopping to do, so I was gone from home for a couple of hours.

When I returned, Sid met me at the back door and did something totally out of character for him. He told me that he had a surprise gift for me and instructed me to close my eyes. Remember, this was the man who had never bought me a gift on his own, and certainly was not one for surprises, so I was more shocked than curious about the "gift". With my eyes closed, he led me to the front door, then told me to open my eyes.

There, 12 inches below the original peephole, was a brand-new peephole installed, perfect for my height without a stool or even the need to stand on my tippy toes. There wasn't a gem on earth he could have given me that would have made me as happy and excited as my own low-level peephole.

No, he didn't go to a jeweler to pick out an expensive pair of diamond earrings or a bracelet. He flagged down a construction worker and asked him to install a peephole at his little wife's eye level so she could safely see who was ringing the doorbell.

I threw my arms around his waist (I couldn't reach any higher) and thanked him profusely. As I write this, my eyes are filling with tears at the memory of the love and concern behind that gift.

In one afternoon, with one little peephole, my husband made up for more than three decades of gift-giving that sucked.

When I look back on our 45 years together, that is one of the fondest memories I have of his expression of love for me. How desperately I miss him.

©2022 Joan Gershman

Originally self-published in Medium.com