I remember one Christmas when I was much younger, crying to my grandmother because I got much less presents than any of my brothers or sister. (Yes, ‘less’ rather than ‘fewer’, because grammar was a closed book to me back then. How old was I? I can barely remember – 23, 24? No, probably around 7) She tried to explain to me what Christmas was really about, and to demonstrate, she gave me a place mat with a picture on it. It was of a very poor family from hundreds of years ago. They had nothing – the children were playing on the dirt floor, the mother was doing some needlework to earn a living, and they were all pretty stunted from not having enough to eat – but they were smiling and happy together in spite of their hardship. I still have it somewhere, actually, and if I can find it I’ll post a photo of it.
I loved it – not only was it meaningful and a symbol of my beloved grandmother – but it also added to my tally of presents that year, plus I was the only one to get a gift from her. Take that, siblings!