The Worst Christmas Gift I Ever Got

When I was 10 years old, I received a very odd Christmas gift. My grandfather gave me a broom.

Ten year-old boys want racing cars and football helmets as gifts. Not brooms.

Out from under the tree this oddly shaped package emerged. A long slender gift, wrapped in festive, holiday paper with ribbon. For a minute or two, I daydreamed, envisioning a fishing rod, lacrosse stick or a baseball bat.

Much to my dismay, as I unwrapped the gift, what was revealed was a broom. Plain. Bare wood. Not even painted. Bristles were irregular and messy. Not like any broom I had seen.

I was disappointed and confused.?

Was I being punished? Had I been a bad boy that year? Was this broom a proverbial lump of coal?

Fact of the matter: this was a boy-sized, handmade broom from Pennsylvania Quaker Country. Today, I would be thrilled to receive such a unique treasure. Ten year old me? Not so much.

After all, it was just a broom.

No doubt, I sulked and pouted. Probably received a stern look from my mother indicating I should show some gratitude. I’m sure I tried, unconvincingly, to fake like I loved that broom.

Long, awkward moments passed. Thankfully, gift time gave way to dinner time. I propped the broom in the corner of the living room and made my way to the dinner table. Food. Delicious food. New topics. A reprieve.

In the months that followed, my disappointment faded.?

Over several years I put that broom to good use. I got past the feelings of unmet expectations and began to embrace that good little broom. Learned how to handle a broom, to sweep properly. When to pull … to switch sides to the ‘backhand’ … when to push.

Young Skip became an adept sweeper. He also became more useful and engaged in housekeeping and chores. My parents took note.?

I swept out the garage a hundred times. Its perfectly smooth, well worn concrete floor, always cool, etched into my memory. Swept the front porch and the back deck an equal number.?

Perhaps my grandfather took note of my maturation and broom mastery, too. I’m sure he did. I imagine his wry smile, as he watched his grandson learn, over time, the solid values of physical labor, hard work and taking pride in caring for one’s property.

Know this: I used that broom until its bristles were worn down to mere nubs. Wish I had a photo to share with you of the actual object.?

A broom. The worst gift I ever received. It helped shape my identity.

And you know what? I remember few, if any, Christmas gifts I received in my boyhood. The broom is one I will never forget.