The Other Gift Guide

“So, does this mean we’re not exchanging presents?” Rose asked, eyebrows narrowing into adolescent cross-examination. Col’s face was unreadable behind ever-affixed earbuds pumping hiphop into his skull cavity. 

I had just presented my Hanukkah redux proposal to the family. It could be the antidote to every previous holiday moment spent squinting at a cheery store display trying to determine if any particular item would confer the mythic rush of surprise and delight we’ve been conditioned to covet. 

“Here’s my idea. We each make a request to one another, asking someone to do something that would make our lives more wonderful,” I told assembled family members, feeling a bit like I was peddling a new improved multi-vitamin to a crowd who’d ordered a pizza. I had been inspired by a quote from Marshall Rosenberg, who developed the communication tools he called Nonviolent Communication. He said, “instead of playing the game ‘Making Life Wonderful’ we often play the game ‘Who’s right?’ Do you know that game? It’s a game where everybody loses. What makes life more wonderful is contributing to the well being of other people.”

I waited for the teenage mutiny. The skepticism. The calling out of dubious parental agendas of connection and meaning replacing highly-regarded consumerism and its empty caloric punch: short term excitement. Strangely, everyone agreed.

 First, some parameters:

• Requests are fulfilled without spending money.
• If a request doesn’t feel doable, the person receiving the request will be honest and the two people will collaborate to find something that works better for both.
• Don’t ask for something you know won’t fly, like “Can I snuggle with my phone all night rather than put it up at 9pm as agreed?”

And, some tips:

• Consider an aspect of your relationship that isn’t working well and what could ameliorate this.
• Be prepared to share what it would give you if this person said yes to your request, so they know how they’re contributing to you.
• Look for a request that is both big enough to contribute to you and small enough enough that it will be easy for someone to say yes.

The first night of Hanukkah, we gathered in the living room, equal parts excited and nervous to deliver and receive these requests. So as not to overwhelm anyone we decided each of the four of us would issue one request per night. We also decided to preface our request with a specific appreciation of that person.

What followed was more beautiful than I could have imagined. Col, who still at 16 is our physical barometer for emotional connection, could be found koala-ed onto a parent as the process unfolded.

There were surprisingly practical requests. Dan to me: When you use the stove, can you please stay in the kitchen until you turn the burner off? I get distracted; pans get charred. 

And, there were vulnerable requests. Me to Col: When I’m doing something you don’t like, can you tell me clearly why it bothers you? My hope was to translate the eye rolls, heavy sighs and terse commands of: “Mom; just stop.” 

I was worried sibling requests would involve snark and sabotage. So, when Col asked Rose if before doing laundry she’d check if he had any items to add, a small balloon of family collaboration inflated in my chest.

There were sweet, connecting requests. Col to his dad: When you’re carving those wooden spoons in your shop, can you invite me to carve one with you? Interestingly, two days later, Dan’s request to Col was exactly the same, in reverse.

There were requests that benefitted both receiver and giver, like when Dan asked me: Can you continue to ask about my feelings so I can expand my capacity to express a range of emotions? 

Making a request is a simple, powerful way to bring power and collaboration to our relationships. It’s a bit like magic, really – the way a request will recruit all the cells of our willingness, while a demand acts as an affront to our autonomy. And yet, it’s vulnerable to ask for what we truly want, to make our needs known. So, we often tamp down this vulnerability to appear less full of desires, because we’ve been told we’re more likable that way.

This Hanukkah tells a different story. As the “yeses” to our requests stacked up, and our teenagers lingered in the living room with us, I saw that this practice connected us, informing us that we were important enough to effect each other’s well being.

I love receiving clear, doable requests. Contributing to others’ happiness actually boosts our happiness because we’re wired for interdependence; interdependence runs on mutual generosity. 

And, three weeks later, I’m seeing these requests show up in daily life. Last night when I was done teaching online and went to visit Rose in her room to find out how her day was, she said, “Well, I’ve already told Daddy all about it, so you can ask him.” Dan’s request to her: I want to hear more stories about what high school is like for you.

And Col and I got a chance to practice “annoyance translation” when I was celebrating that within the first five days of his winter break he had already gone skiing twice and had two sleepovers with two different friend groups and he said, “Stop. That’s so annoying.” I learned that in celebrating what he thought should be “normal events” for a teenage boy I was highlighting the loneliness he’d experienced the past two years.

And, in addition to more connection in the house, the smoke alarm has been awfully quiet lately.

The sunroom is working.

We wondered if we could make requests of Arlo, but settled for appreciations.

One of the miracles of Hanukkah this year was that although City Market didn’t have ANY Hanukkah candles, I had frugally saved pre-lit birthday candles and we made it to 8 nights.

Maybe you will make requests part of your gift giving; or, maybe you will will just casually seed some requests into daily life and see what blooms.

Hoping that we all have comfort and care in these dark days. And dogs. And books. This book was heartbreaking and illuminating. This book was heartbreaking and uplifting. And this book was all of the above.

All the love,

Rachel

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