All It Takes Is A Gift?

This happened last week, a few days after both parental units waylaid into me for no good reason.

I was finishing up dinner with my folks.  Mother spoke to me about stuff, but Father did not, a sign that he was mad at me.  (My psychotherapist accurately said that the problem I have with my parents is that I don't know when and how they come at me.  It's like I have PTSD or something.)  But as I was cleaning up after eating, My Father points somewhere and says, "That's for you."

"What?  Where is it?" I replied, and I saw what he was pointing at: A Hard Rock Cafe bag.

I don't know if I've said this yet on Wailing And Failing, but I collect Hard Rock Cafe memorabilia.  It's a really dorky hobby to have.  When I had my first big trip, which was to Europe after my senior year in high school, I wanted to have some souvenirs.  And at the time, seeing all these t-shirts with the venerable HRC logo and the city underneath it sounded like the perfect way to signal where in the world you've been.  I decided early on that I would get two things whenever I hit a cafe in a city for the first time: A white tee with the original logo and the city under it, and a specialty pin, one that has local significance.

My HRC collecting continued to expand while I had the means to travel to Asia, then back to Europe again after graduating from college, and then on my trips around the U.S.  But life takes over, you know.  There are many cities I haven't gotten to, and so my sister and brother-in-law, who have dedicated a big portion of their lives to globetrotting, stepped in and bought me t-shirts and pins for the places they vacationed at.

I never got the feeling that my parents approved of my hobby.  Mother kept her mouth shut about it while Father had said on occasion that it's a waste of money.  So I was shocked, absolutely gobsmacked that they took time out of their two-month cruise to head to the cities in South America that had Hard Rock Cafes and buy stuff there for me.  They indulged in my hobby, and it's the first time they showed any interest, genuine or otherwise, about something I like to do.

I don't know what prompted it, although last year I bought both of them hats with my alma mater on them.  I just didn't think that with my parents' nonplussed attitude towards my collecting, and then them laying into me just a few days prior, that they would think about me and do this.  When I told my shrink about it, his first thought was that they did it because they cared about me.  Really???

After I took the bag with those goodies to my room, do you know what my first thought was?  I should go back to school.  Yep, either I felt so guilty that they would do such a nice thing for me or I operate on a callous, transactional, quid pro quo way of thinking that it was not only right but fair that I go back to school.  That feeling has subsided ... and yet, just writing this paragraph makes me think that I'm obligated to go back to school.  Maybe all it does take to go back is a gift.

Don't tell my folks, but however they thought of it, or even if only one of them thought about doing it, I think it's a really nice gesture.  I was barely able to stammer out a thank-you to My Father, but I meant it.  And even though I have yet to look through the contents of the bag (it's just sitting on the floor right next to my bed), it is still really thoughtful of them.