I was at Wal-Mart recently, trolling the greeting card aisles for a couple of cards that would be both appropriate to the occasion and have the rare distinction of not costing more than the gifts they were intended to accompany.
I mean, in a world where at least ten percent of the cards open up to actual music (I got one of those once ... it plays the theme from Pirates of the Caribbean), and some of those are so big they could double as pup tents and cost in excess of fifteen dollars, one is sorely tempted to simply hand the gift to its fortunate recipient and say, "This is for you. From me. I do so hope you like it."
In my case on this particular day, both gift-giving, card-buying occasions involved the number 50. One was for a couple in our church who celebrated 50 years of marriage on August 8th (gift: two-color reed-diffused air freshener in vanilla cinnamon). The other was for a friend turning 50 on August 16th (gift: wrinkle cream by Oil of Old Age).
This ground-breaking information has led to a whole new category of greeting cards.
Just kidding about that last one. I haven't bought my friend a present yet.
I did briefly consider the card that, on the front, bore the message: Don't worry about the past because you can't change it. On the inside it elaborated: Don't worry about the present either, because I didn't get you one.
(Now, that's my kind of sentiment ... but I didn't pick that one because I do intend to buy a present for my friend. Probably a Waffle House gift card. Unless you know my friend and me and something of our antics, that won't resonate with you. So be it. Suffice it to say, they know us down at the Waffle House on Broad River Road.)
At any rate, my task should have been less challenging than toppling from a log; right?
Not so much.
Aside from the fact that, when it comes to cards, I tend to be cheap (normally I buy them for 50 cents apiece at Dollar General but on this day -- foolishly, as it turned out -- I wanted to make just the one stop at Wal-Mart), I am limited by other sensibilities not related to economy.
Namely, when it comes to greeting cards (and basically everything else), although I love a good guffaw as much as the next person, I don't do bathroom humor, booty-call humor, or booze humor. Basically because, to me, none of those things are remotely funny.
But that rules out approximately 50 percent of the cards!
How fitting.
So I'm looking around, slowly realizing how narrow my choices actually are, when I see them: an entire section of "back to school" cards.
Back To School cards? Yes.
There were cards for starting day care, starting kindergarten, starting elementary school, starting middle school, starting high school, starting college. All starting at ninety-nine cents. All meant to "encourage" kids.
A visit to the Hallmark web site reveals that there has been a study done which proves once and for all that kids crave the encouragement of their moms (or significant other parental units).
I hope they didn't spend a lot of money on that study. For a mere 50 dollars, I could have told them that much about kids, and more. Cash, please.
But this ground-breaking information has led to a whole new category of greeting cards ... and Hallmark's helpful suggestions for how to use them (just in case the card-buying public cannot figure that out for themselves).
For example, parents are encouraged to Hide a card under a pillow just to say 'you're cool' or 'you're the best kid.'
Or to Tuck a card in a lunchbox or backpack to ease back-to-school butterflies.
Or to Slip a card under a bedroom door the morning of an important test, or have one ready after school that says 'I knew you could do it.'
Our being there in the flesh seemed to be what our children actually wanted.
Or to Say how proud you are after the big game or recital in a card that can be kept for years on end.
Or to Fill your college kid's mailbox with cards and love from home.
(In the case of the college kid, don't forget to include a 50-dollar bill or you're wasting your time. They won't cherish an empty card. Count on it.)
Even nestled as they were among thousands of cards available for every purpose from a deceased pet to a new salt shaker to an ingrown toenail, the staggering plethora of Back To School cards and Kid Encouragement cards set me reminiscing.
Each year in late August during my golden rule days, my parents demonstrated their support by buying me a pair of school shoes, a few new outfits from K-Mart, two or three notebooks, pencils, erasers, a ruler, a bottle of glue, a pack of looseleaf paper (that I was obliged to share with my sister), and similar supplies.
The only thing I wanted slipped under my pillow was that tooth-fairy money.
My parents never told me I was cool, or that I was the best kid. They provided for me, which was the crucial tip-off that they had a decent opinion of me. The onus was on me to excel, whether or not I thought it (or I) was "cool" or "the best."
(Which, incidentally, I didn't. Thank God for that. There's nothing worse than a snot-nosed kid who thinks he's cool. As parents, I and the father of our four children forbade that kind of attitude at our house. We taught our children to obey the rules, show respect for themselves and others, be on time, keep their noses clean, pay attention, do their schoolwork, get involved in sports, and determine every day to serve both God and their fellow man. At the earliest possible moment, they were expected to get a job.)
When I went back to school each year I was put on the bus with my meager supplies and a bologna sandwich that may or may not have been sequestered within a nifty brown paper sack. I distinctly remember a time when we had no paper sacks at home, and my humble sandwich got wrapped in a scrap of aluminum foil. The other kids referred to me as "Tin Foil Lunch" for the rest of the year.
Not exactly the image I was going for.
I had more back-to-school butterflies than Carter's had liver pills, but I never got a card for it and I'm fairly certain that if I had, it would not have cleared my tummy of flighty lepidopterae. I was the perennial new girl; card or no card, you still had to face the giants alone. I did sometimes get a hug as I was nudged toward the dreaded death-black rubber tread of the bus steps ... and on one occasion, I remember being so upset and stomach-achey on the first day of school that my mom let me go back home. YESSSSSSSS!
I didn't have any big games or recitals, but if I had, it would have been understood at my house that I was expected to do my best even if nobody praised me (which, incidentally, when I succeeded at something, they did). My children participated both in big games (come to think of it, to us EVERY game was big) and recitals, but I am hard pressed to remember a single time I sent one of them a greeting card before, during, or after said event.
(What I did was, in every case, unless providentially hindered, I sat on the sidelines and prayed and clapped and cheered. As did their father. Strangely, our being there in the flesh seemed to be what our children actually wanted. In my memory no child of mine has ever pulled a long face because they were denied a greeting card.)
Don't let the door hit you on the way out.
On the morning of a big test, the floor on the inside of my bedroom door was invariably vacant. My gut feeling was that I'd better have studied hard and prepared myself to get a good grade, or I was going to be called on the carpet for it. No smarmy store-bought sentiments were applied to the situation. Good grades were a given at my house; you got them or you faced the consequences. The idea was realizing your potential and, additionally, not shirking your duty. It was the lived-out reality of the concept that right is its own reward. It was the certainty that you weren't going to be mollycoddled into performing your reasonable service.
(My husband was reared the same way. I promise you he's none the worse for it, and neither am I, and neither are our children. In fact, we all benefitted tremendously from the no-nonsense approach to character-driven, goal-oriented, non-negotiable personal responsibility and its usual outcome: achievement.)
Don't get me wrong; I'm not against sending greeting cards. I do it all the time. But whatever happened to looking into a person's eyes and TELLING them that you love them, or that you are praying for them, or that everything will work out fine, or that even if it doesn't, it won't be the end of the world? Whatever happened to a pat on the back, a hug, a sincere hand-holding, a wink and a smile?
These days if you're not getting a text message it's a phone message and if you're not getting a phone call it's an email and if you're not getting an email you pretty much feel forgotten.
Further perusal of Hallmark's web site revealed that, if you feel the urge to send a greeting card but lack the time to do it yourself, the company will sign, stamp, and send the card for you. For all I know, they'll pick it out too. Just put in your credit card number and it's all taken care of with a click of the mouse. Call me crazy (many have), but doesn't it defeat the purpose of sending a card in the first place when you engage the services of a corporate entity to sign and mail it? I'm not feeling the love.
And then there are e-cards ... a whole new domain in manufactured greetings. I actually like these and use them a good bit. The animation is fun and there's no denying it is convenient and cost-effective. People enjoy receiving them.
But recently I got an email from an e-card outfit touting their Spanish-language cards and insisting that I wanted to send one of them! A Spanish-language card, that is.
Only problem is ... No. I. Do. Not.
I speak English. I do not speak Spanish. Why would I? I am an American and as such, English is my mother tongue. English is the language of our country. I daresay if I lived in a country where Spanish is the primary language, I would have to learn it or else make some very costly mistakes until I did. So that's what the Spanish-speaking people in America should do: LEARN TO SPEAK ENGLISH.
Or else, leave. And don't let the door hit you on the way out.
And then there's Exhale, the outfit that specializes in "post-abortion" services, to include treacly e-cards.
There are six choices, featuring pictures of sunsets and flowers and cut-out hearts and all manner of sweetness and light, with messages such as "Healing is possible. May you find peace after your abortion."
God help us. May we find peace after visiting the greeting card aisle, virtual or otherwise.
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Thursday, August 27, 2009 at 09:44PM 
