Little Treasures
My seven-year-old daughter and I tend to approach life from a very different place. She is much more dramatic, and loves to plan thing years in advance. I'm hard to rile, and keep my focus fixed on the here and now, much to her chagrin. We joke that my daughter is a carbon copy of my mother, who doesn't understand the way I function either. As different as we all are, it is always a surprise to find traits that we share.
Recently, my daughter attended a birthday party for a classmate. I took her to Target to select a gift, and she chose a stationary set and a few plastic animals. I wasn't sure how that would go over with the birthday girl, so I carefully tucked aside the gift receipt.
At home, she insisted on wrapping the gift herself, and rejected the floral paper I had selected. She packed her gift in a battered Amazon.com shipping box, and then taped plain white paper all over it.. Then she decorated it with drawings in an assortment of markers.
I bit my lip while she decorated. I offered to help her wrap it, and I was shooed away. She quickly signed the card and sealed it into an envelope before I could slip the gift receipt inside. Then she spent an hour crafting an elaborate set of pictures, folded into a book for her friend, which she taped to the sealed card. Her final offering was a large, construction paper badge that proclaimed her friend as a member of my daughter's imaginary club of horse lovers.
It was all a labor of love for my girl. And I knew that this would probably end badly.
At the party, my daughter's gift was shuffled around the table while the birthday girl opened conventionally wrapped gifts right and left. As the pile of licensed merchandise grew, my daughter sat on the edge of her seat, eyes gleaming. Finally, her gift was the only one left, and her friend pulled it towards her. She shredded the typing paper without a glance at the drawings, and ripped open the sad box, extracting the stationary and the animals. She took a 10 second look at them, handed the animals to her baby brother and pushed her chair away from the table.
My daughter spoke up. "Did you see the card I made for you?"
Her friend returned to the box and pulled the card off of the side. She opened the book of pictures and spent about five seconds trying to decipher the story before tossing it into the pile of other cards. She offered a mother-prompted thanks and raced off to play with the other guests.
My daughter's face fell. She took a shuddering breath and then straightened her shoulders. She pushed back in her chair and ran off to play with the girls.
My heart broke a little for her at that moment.
See, I was that kid, too. I always made little treasures for people - scribbles and paper dolls. I spent hours making art projects, most of which delighted me. As I worked I would have these elaborate backstories for each object. I would draw inspiration from the bazillion books I had read. I'd create these little things, and I'd want to share them with someone. The problem is the fact that I would assign a significance to my projects that others simply didn't understand.
On the last day of fourth grade, I presented a friend with a tiny doll made from toilet paper and rubber bands, carefully placed in a creaking Sucrets tin. I don't remember what the significance was, but I do remember her reaction. She was baffled. She looked at it in confusion, and then asked me "Why did you give me this?"
My answer seemed lame the second it was out of my mouth. "I thought you would like it. It's a little treasure." She stared at me for a minute, and then put it in her book bag. I don't know what she did with it, but I suspect it hit the nearest trash can on her way to the bus.
A few years back, I started to put together a scrapbook for my mom. I wanted to include important mementos from her life, and she offered me a lumpy plastic bag from the depths of her closet. I took it home and dumped it out on my table. Inside were fading snapshots, ticket stubs from a few movies, and name tags from some of her old jobs. Her junior high yearbook was inside, as well as a repair bill from her first car. In the pile, I was surprised to see some of my funny-looking projects from years gone by.
These mementos didn't seem all that significant, frankly. I was looking for important stuff to include in her scrapbook, not a bunch of junk. I called her up and asked her if she had anything else that I could use. She sounded a little hurt when she asked me what else I could possibly want - I already had her bag of treasures.
Comments
I felt sooo sorry for your daughter and you too because you saw it coming and couldn't do anything about it.
Yes, sometimes the little things are the most cherished.
Are you making a bag of treasures that you can pass along to your daughter in the future. I think that I just might see what I have whether anyone asks for it or not! :)
Posted by: sp @ Weary Parent | September 7, 2006 4:26 PM
Oh man, I was the exact same way. Only the little doll that I made out of an old flannel nightgown slept inside of a matchbox.
And my son is the same way. he has so many "treasures" that look like garbage to me.
Posted by: chris | September 7, 2006 5:48 PM
Sigh. My daughter is just the same. She is also seven. I tell her that some people only notice what's on top, and they will always only notice what's on top. That she needs to look for other people who enjoy the little treasures that nobody else has. It's not easy for her to understand or for me to see, but I am going to keep saying it nonetheless, because it has worked in my favor as that kind of child in the types of people I choose as friends as an adult.
Posted by: Mom of Three | September 7, 2006 11:43 PM
What a heartbreakingly beautiful post. I have little tears in my eyes for you and me and our daughters. It seems we are all cut from the same cloth. And I have also felt the same apprehension with TQ's little friendhsip tokens and offerings and treasures, as well. To make up for anyone else's lack of appreciation, I always try to make a big deal out of them. But yes, there are some things, little crappydoos, that even I can't fathom but to her they are indeed treasures.
Posted by: Izzy | September 8, 2006 1:07 AM
I am so sorry. That is such a heartbreaking story. Your daughter worked so hard on her little treasure and her 'friend' just dismissed it.
The best thing about this story is that you truly feel your daughter's hurt because you were there yourself. You will always have that empathy for her when nobody else will. A special bond. Cherish it. Help her to always know that you know how she feels. She may not always understand but you have been in her shoes.
Posted by: Janet | September 8, 2006 7:13 AM
Your story is so sweet. I was like that and so could (potentially) one of my kids end up to be. Heartbreaking, but proud if you could only fast forward to their adult years and realize the creative person you helped unleash :)
Posted by: hilary | September 8, 2006 8:02 AM
We relate so much differently to our daughters than we do to our sons...
Posted by: MotherPie | September 8, 2006 8:03 AM
call it prenatal hormones or just mom hormones or mom of little girls hormones, but i, too, cried while reading this. what a sweet and imaginative little girl you have! shame on the other mother for not only not raising her daughter to be more polite, but for not recognizing your daughter's efforts and thus encouraging her own daughter's appreciation.
Posted by: i'm here | September 8, 2006 3:36 PM
Sigh. Such a sad and beautiful post -- I can completely see this happening with my older daughter. She is so eager to please and sensitive too.
And yes -- I've got a bit of the like mother, like daughter going on with my own mom as well.
Thanks for a thought-provoking post that this mom and daughter could definitely relate to.
Posted by: Nancy | September 8, 2006 6:55 PM
There is nothing worse than watching your child get let down by someone else, expecially when that someone is a valued friend. It's as is she's cast her pearls amongst the swine. Hopefully she'll find a few girls like her, who are as kind, generous and thoughtful as she is. My daughter has a handful of friends like that and they all seem to share a mutual loved and respect of hand-made treasures.
If nothing else, they've got wonderful moms like us who appreciate every treasure they make!
Great post.
Posted by: tracey | September 9, 2006 2:36 PM
Awww...I know the way you feel. My daughter is only 9 months old, and so sociable with other kids - and they often run off to play and not give her a second glance. The look of disappointment on her face makes my heart break.
Posted by: Shawn C | September 9, 2006 11:35 PM
I confess I teared up too. I was so hoping it might end differently - this time.
I love that your mother said the same thing - but you already have my bag of treasures. We know what those things mean.
Posted by: Krisco | September 11, 2006 10:29 PM
I confess I teared up too. I was so hoping it might end differently - this time.
I love that your mother said the same thing - but you already have my bag of treasures. We know what those things mean.
Posted by: Krisco | September 11, 2006 10:29 PM
My son takes the junk mail and makes little treasures for his friends. I never know how to shelter his feelings and at the same time encourage his imagination. Thanks for this story.
Posted by: Kristina | September 12, 2006 1:20 PM
I too felt your daughters pain. It's hard to watch labours of love go unnoticed. She sounds like a great kid.
Posted by: Brony | September 12, 2006 9:12 PM
Grandma knows about tender hearts and handmade treasures from ones imagination. Funnel those little gifts this way and we'll crow like the proud grandparents we are! Dad still has several of your love coupons and cards tucked safely away in his undies drawer. I hope my bag of treasures is locked away for a rainy day! Mom/Grandma
Posted by: MommyBommie | September 13, 2006 11:36 PM