The Helpless Shopper

My father never was a gift giver. Many were the times when he bought us candy, doughnuts or eclairs. But I can count on one hand the actual gifts he gave me: a silver pin in the shape of the Scottish thistle, some vocal music, and the night before he died, a hideous multi-colored ceramic worm-type character which he had painted himself. It wasn't that he didn't love me. It just never occurred to him to buy things for me, since Mother purchased the essentials for the family.

Apparently, I was not the only one who found this difficult. After they got married, Mother looked forward to her birthday, Valentine's Day, Christmas, Mother's Day--dreaming of the surprises she would receive from Daddy. Shock was more like it. She didn't get a thing from him for the first two years of their marriage. Finally, she blew up. He apologized and immediately bought her a dozen long-stem red roses that they could ill afford. Mother was apoplectic.

After about 25 years he figured out that she would be very happy if she received a corsage on Christmas and Mother's Day, a bouquet on her birthday, and a single red rose at random times. For some reason, he got the idea that she would like new panties for every occasion. I was never told of the conversations behind this, but I suppose Mother commented that other women sometimes liked gifts of lingerie. As Daddy was oblivious to lingerie on or off Mother, he settled on a practical gift: panties. We are not talking about sheer, exotic-colored, silk, or frilly panties. I mean plain cotton or tricot panties--up to the waist and down to Bakersfield. Problem was, he never seemed to know her size.

I remember shopping with him for these when I was about 10 years old. It was an adventure and I was thrilled to be sworn to secrecy (I don't know why, because it certainly wasn't a secret to Mother after all those years). We stood at a sale table on which were arranged pastel nylon panties on sale. Now what size should he buy for her? "I want five pair," he announced, holding up a lavender pair by the elastic as if it were a dead rat. "Does this look like her size?" I had no idea. Always resourceful, Daddy glanced around the lingerie department for help. A rather large woman stood at a rack of underwire bras several feet away. Daddy smiled and stepped over to her.

"Excuse me, could you help me?"

The woman glanced around at him. Daddy had adopted an awkward, boyish, "HELP ME!" expression on his face. "Of course" she said, smiling.

"I'm trying to buy some panties for my wife and I don't remember what size she wears. She's about your size, I think. Can you help me know what would fit her?"

"You think she's my size?" the lady asked, her brow furrowing.

"Yes."

"That would be a size 12." She looked pleased that she had helped a clueless man. "What a nice gift," she added wistfully.

"Thanks!" Daddy sang out, turning back to the panty table. Turning to me he said, "Wasn't she nice?"

And to the good Samaritan, "Thanks again. My wife will be very surprised!"

She was, too. Mother wore a size 5. "Raiford!" she exclaimed, exasperated, looking at panties that could hold two of her. "What, pray tell, size do you think I am?" Whenever Mother punctuated her sentence in this way, we knew she was beside herself.

"Well," Daddy began to stammer. "I thought the woman standing there was about your size and she told me what to buy." His eyes were twinkling and he would start laughing when Mother held the large panties up to her diminutive frame.

"Oh, my soul!" she would exclaim, laughing uproariously. "Honey, you need your eyes checked! And you can't be asking women what size panties they wear. Someone is going to think you're out for no good."

"I didn't know what to do and she was a pleasant looking woman. She didn't seem to mind me asking what size she wore."

"Well you just can't do that. Kindly return these... size 12!"

It was a yearly joke that never seemed to get old. Mother would exchange them herself and have a good laugh with the store clerk about it.

I don't think Daddy bought Mother any panties recently before he died. I would think she had enough to start an underwear store out of her bedroom after so many years. He had progressed to flowers by that time, which that suited Mother better.

As the holidays get closer I think fondly of those wonderful memories. As I spirit away gifts in the guestroom closet, hidden until Christmas, I wonder if the holidays will surprise me in any way.

I wish that I had more things from my father so that in the using of them I could feel that he was closer to me somehow. Alas, it is not to be. But at least, I had him. That was gift enough.