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Christmas was near a season that we took seriously in our house. But a week or so before the 25th, my father would give each of his children $ 20. This was the 1970s, and $ 20 was quite a bit of money.
But I saw it differently. My father trusted me to have the smart to spend money wisely. Even better, he gave me the means to get it. On a very basic level, my father was giving me a shopping spree (狂欢) every year.. But he was also giving me charge over my own fun, trusting my ability to manage money and making me feel like a grown-up. He didn't buy me Sherlock Holmes, but he gave me the means to walk into the bookstore and choose it for myself, so it felt like a gift from him.
My mother had a gift for giving me what I needed, usually right at the moment I needed it most. This was when I was 25, I failed at being an adult on my very first try. I had quitted my previous job but had no new one. But when my mother paid me a visit, I put on a good show, telling her I had started my own company.
My mother knew that I was trying hard and failing at that time. It wasn't until after she left that I noticed at the foot of my bed an envelope thick with cash. She knew how desperately I needed it. She knew that had she just shown up with groceries, or offered to pay my rent, she would have made me feel much worse. The cold, hard cash meant she was helping me. And, funnily enough, the distance with which she gave the gift felt like she was giving me space to fix my life and preserve my dignity. My mother and father both did the same thing. One was giving me the means to take my own decisions, and the other was giving me a second chance when those decisions had cost me dearly.
