As a child in the early ’90s, I longed for an Easy-Bake Oven. All my friends seemed to have one, or so I claimed to my parents. I imagined the delicious treats I could whip up—maybe even launch a small baked goods business! Eventually, Christmas arrived, and there it was, my coveted toy appliance. It came with a plethora of fun accessories! However, over the following days, it produced a few unfortunate muffin-like concoctions and left me with a painful burn on my finger. Soon enough, it was relegated to the back of my closet, as I shifted my attention to the next trending toy.
While I can recall some cherished toys from my youth (my battered stuffed rabbit, Mr. Fluff, is still with me), most of my treasured memories stem from imaginative games played on my brothers’ bunk bed. A couple of blankets hanging from the top bunk transformed our cozy space into countless worlds. We could embark on space missions or take cross-country trips in a toy truck. We also spent a significant amount of time outdoors, riding our bikes into the woods. Summers with my grandparents, fishing and berry-picking, were my absolute favorite, and their home was devoid of toys yet felt like paradise.
Fast forward to today, I have a daughter named Lily. During my pregnancy, I confidently declared (to the dismay of some colleagues) that my child wouldn’t become one of those kids with enough toys to stock a store. Yet, in less than three years, she has accumulated an overwhelming collection of stuffed animals and plastic figurines. It’s easy to blame well-meaning relatives, but I’ve also contributed to this collection. I see something cute and think, “Lily would adore that! I must buy it!” Like most kids, whenever she receives a new toy, she either ignores it entirely or plays with it briefly before returning to her beloved favorites.
Even before Halloween, people began asking what Lily wanted for Christmas. The truth? At 2, she’s more interested in wearing my flip-flops around the house and attempting to ride our dog than in any toys. She doesn’t need more stuff; she craves my time and attention. She loves to read, color, and run—none of these activities require toys. This holiday season, I’ve decided to initiate what I hope will be a lasting tradition. Instead of purchasing toys, I will gift her a book and some craft materials, allowing us to create and enjoy quality time together. Additionally, I plan to take her to the store to select a toy for a child in need, and we will deliver it to a toy drive. I’ll also make a monetary donation to a charity, explaining its significance to her. I want Lily to embrace the holidays as a time for gratitude, generosity, and cherishing family moments.
As she grows, my child (and yours) will encounter the pervasive notion that Christmas revolves around her desires: “What do you want for Christmas?” “Have you written your wish list?” “What is Santa bringing?” I want her to learn to challenge these societal messages that equate the holidays with materialism and selfishness. It’s essential for her to question the media, advertisements, and anyone trying to sell her something. I hope she becomes unafraid to question traditions, especially when those traditions uphold the status quo. I want her to understand that often, diverging from the crowd is the right choice. Plus, I’d like to navigate my home without stepping on a mountain of brightly colored plastic items.
In conclusion, Christmas doesn’t have to be about accumulating toys. Instead, it can focus on meaningful experiences, generosity, and family time.
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