“IT STRIKES” Again: The secret to Christmas shopping - It all starts with a long list

[What a great day for a Christmas story, eh? The following was first published in December, 2002. I was much younger then, still willing to take time to write cheques. Now, at Christmas, I buy gift cards with great skill. gah]

The secret to Christmas shopping - It all starts with a long list

I don’t take advice or suggestions well.

My reluctance to listen started when I was six and my mother told me to do up the top buttons of my coat while my friend Gary Thorne stood at my side with his collar open.

If Gary had his coat open, I had to have my coat open too. End of story. Out the door and down the steps we ran, collars flapping, all the way to school.

I can therefore empathetically understand why family, friends and others would offer some resistance to any advice I might want to give.

But this is good advice.

Before you run out the door and down the steps to do your Christmas shopping, make a list. If you don’t, you venture forth into a great storm at your peril.

Pat and I tried Christmas shopping together once without a list. It didn’t start, continue or end well. The fact we are still together is a proud testament to how careful we are to repress painful events in our marriage until we are mature enough to air them without causing injury.


We had arranged for a sitter for our two boys, oiled and gassed up the car, stuffed a few dollars in our pockets, secured the top buttons on our coats and headed out the door to White Oaks Mall on December 22, 1981. Even though I was a wee bit stressed because my December report cards, school Christmas concert and pay cheque had been later than usual, as I opened the car door for Pat I remember saying, “Great night for shopping, eh?”

Pat simply looked at her watch.

Our brown 1970 Skylark took forever to warm up but we eventually found ourselves huddled together in the middle of the old K-Mart store struggling to collect our thoughts.

“Who are you buying for?” Pat asked.

She stumbled toward me due to a bump from behind.

“I don’t know. Who are you shopping for?” I stepped sideways to dodge an overflowing cart and bustling shopper.

Pat quickly responded with, “Well, I still need to get something for my parents, my brothers, and our boys.”

“Wait, wait. How much money did we bring?” I inquired hastily as three bulky kids in snowsuits ran between us. “I have to get some stuff too.”

Pat asked again, “Who are you buying for?”

“I don’t know,” I answered while ducking to avoid a flying four-pack of gift-wrap. “Who should I be buying for?”

We couldn’t agree on anything or even take the first step because of the rush, the crowds, the noise, the lack of organization on our part. We did agree, however, to stop long enough to sit down, get coffee and put pencil to paper. And that’s now where it starts every year.

With pen and paper in hand I recently asked, “Who’s on our list this year? Who’s been good?”

While compiling this year’s version of the all-important list I placed Pat’s name at the top where it belongs and probed for any hints she might be willing to reveal. The boys get their decades-old stockings stuffed and a cheque, easy work for me. I sign the cheques to prove that I am involved in some small way in the actual decision-making in our house.

Our grandson Jack gets something dinosaur related and an ice rink - if it stays cold enough.

I get to walk through the shops in Wortley Village like I know what I’m doing.

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