Hey, soulless meanie! (You know who you are.) Why won’t you help out someone in need this holiday season? I found out the hard way that my friends and dates have no problem refusing or ignoring me when I asked them to help me donate presents to families in need.
As a usually single childless adult, I find that the warmth of the season often eludes me. When I was forced to help my Jewish mother decorate 11 varieties of Christmas cookies to be plattered and gifted to the garbage person, I felt no tingles whatsoever.
Then one year I was visiting my sister for Thanksgiving and saw how her law firm was collecting toys for children. As a kid, I remember plucking a name off the giving tree in the Pony Village Mall and returning with a wrapped gift for “Lucy, Age 4.” I was inspired to seek a similar charitable opportunity in the Bay Area. That’s how I found the Concord-based nonprofit Uplift Family Services, an amazing agency that sponsors a “Foster Santa” program for families in need. Uplift sent me information about a family, along with a wish list. At the time, I was dating Paul, a CEO; he and I had a great time shopping and wrapping the gifts while listening to John Denver and the Muppets. I remember how excited he was by wristlet Scotch-tape dispensing.
The following year I was single and a consultant. My ex and I both became foster Santas for two different families, and it was then that I had a brilliant idea: What if I sponsored a third family via my online dates — in other words, I would go on OkCupid dates and ask the guys if they wanted to help? We’d go on our first date in a store, and — assuming the date went well — together we’d buy something from my adopted-family’s wish list. I went online and chatted with my suitors; several guys agreed.
I met Alex in the toy aisle of the City Target. We were on the hunt for a “black baby doll.” As we were walking through the store, Alex grabbed my ass. Swatting his hand away, I countered, “Do you want children?” hoping to make him feel as uncomfortable as I did in that moment.
The store was crowded, and there were no black baby dolls to be found. Stressed, Alex thrust $20 in my hand and fled. “I can’t handle this,” he cried, and left.
Next came Ashley, an investment banker. He refused to contribute, and then after wrapping just one of the gifts I’d purchased, he asked if it was “sexy time.”
Tobey, a teacher from Oakland, demanded to know how the families were vetted. “How do you know they’re actually poor?” he pushed. I told him I was in Teach for America and taught for several years afterward. I never once thought that the “free” food I’d sent home with my students on Fridays was going to a family of scammers. WTF, Tobey? He responded, “I have students who show up without school supplies and own an iPhone 6.”
This was the last time I would ask a gainfully employed guy from the Internet to help me buy bubble bath for a six-year-old boy who lives with his 20-year-old brother because his parents abandoned them. I asked other people in my life to help me with my foster Santa mission. My coworkers stepped up. The principal of our firm refused to help. My mother sent a check.
The next year, I was dating Rich, the Google bus rider. When I told him about being a foster Santa, he was reluctant — until, that is, he realized he could get a decent tax deduction. We went to the Target in San Bruno, where Rich rode the red shopping cart like a skateboard. He argued with me about which pot-and-pan set was superior. He smelled several body washes and gave considerable thought to toddler fashion. He insisted on wrapping paper decorated with penguins. I’d never seen him that happy. He told me he felt like Santa Claus with an overflowing “sled” of gifts. Cue euphoric memory.
Last year I was single again and had just started working at a nonprofit. My original ex, Paul, who had continued to adopt families every year, agreed to fund the endeavor as long as I did the shopping and all the wrapping.
I sent a pic of a toy truck I was buying to James, an architect whom I’d been out with a few times. James texted, “That’s too expensive — why waste your money?”
This year I decided to rally my friends. I emailed my plea and posted to my book club’s Facebook page. I got three replies! Kitty stepped up right away, offering to buy several items. Rachel from book club enthusiastically agreed to buy silverware, bath-gel sets, PJs, shirts and socks. Yet besides these responses, from the rest of the group came radio silence — no yesses, no noes, just nothing.
I’m surprised that so many friends who were similarly devastated by the election won’t agree to buy something for kids who might soon be separated from their parents forever by a giant wall. You have good jobs and nice things. What’s up with the silence? Ignoring something doesn’t make it go away. Bah Humbug, hoes. I’ve mentioned my predicament to some guys on Bumble. Some have offered to help. Others respond by asking what I like to do for fun and if I come into the city often.
If you think picking out and wrapping toys for needy children or a holiday meal for their desperate parents and caregivers sounds like something that would make you feel happy, please contact Antoinette right away. Warm fuzzies are in short supply right now. You will receive a beautiful thank-you letter, and you won’t feel like a piece of coal when you unwrap your dry brush or USB cufflinks come Christmas
