As a child in the early ’90s, I longed for an Easy-Bake Oven. It seemed like every kid I knew had one—or so I told my parents. I pictured all the delectable treats I could whip up, even daydreaming about setting up a little bakery to earn some pocket money! Christmas finally arrived, and there it was under the tree, the toy appliance I had craved. It came with an array of fun accessories! But after a few disappointing attempts at baking—resulting in some truly awful muffins and a nasty burn on my finger—I tucked it away in my closet and moved on to the next must-have toy.
While I can recall a few cherished toys from my youth (like my well-loved stuffed rabbit named Benny), most of my fondest memories are tied to imaginative adventures created with my brothers in their bunk beds. We fashioned entire worlds with just a few blankets draped from the upper bunk, blasting off to outer space or embarking on cross-country road trips in a toy truck. Our outdoor escapades were plentiful, racing our bikes into the woods or spending lazy summers at my grandparents’ house—where there were no toys, yet it was my favorite place on earth.
Now, as a parent myself, I made a promise (to the amusement of my colleagues) that my daughter would not be one of those children overwhelmed by toys. Yet, in less than three short years, she has accumulated an astounding collection of stuffed animals and plastic trinkets. I could easily blame well-intentioned family members, but I’ve added to the pile, too, often buying cute items thinking, “Sophie will adore this!” Like many children, she either ignores the new toys or plays with them briefly before returning to her old ones.
Even before Halloween had passed, people began asking what my little Sophie wanted for Christmas. Honestly? At two years old, she just wants to wear my sandals around the house and ride the dog—she certainly doesn’t need any more toys. She thrives on reading, coloring, and running around at full speed, none of which require additional toys. What she needs is my time, my presence, and a space to play freely.
This year, I’m initiating a tradition I hope will last a lifetime. I won’t buy Sophie toys for Christmas. Instead, I’ll gift her a book and some craft supplies, and together we’ll create and explore. I plan to take her to pick out a toy for a child in need and deliver it to a local toy drive. Additionally, I’ll make a monetary donation to a charity and explain the significance of giving back. I want her to understand that the holidays should be about gratitude and generosity, enjoying family time and the simple joys of being together. When the inevitable influx of gifts from relatives arrives—who likely won’t embrace my “radical” ideals—we’ll discuss what to keep and what to donate, emphasizing why we don’t need so much stuff.
Throughout her life, Sophie (like many children) will be bombarded with the notion that Christmas revolves around her desires: “What do you want for Christmas?” “Have you made your wish list?” “What will Santa bring you?” I aim to teach her to challenge the materialism, consumerism, and selfishness that often accompany the holiday season. I want her to learn to scrutinize media messages, question advertisements, and challenge anyone trying to sell her something. It’s crucial for her to feel empowered to question traditions, especially when they serve to uphold the status quo. I want her to understand that sometimes, defying the crowd is the right choice—oh, and I’d love to navigate my home without tripping over brightly colored plastic toys.
In summary, this holiday season, I am choosing to focus on meaningful experiences rather than material gifts. By fostering gratitude, generosity, and critical thinking, I hope to instill values in my daughter that will last a lifetime.