My parents still do stockings for each other, for my brother and I, and for our children and my brother’s wife. I made a wisecrack the other day that they must have a growing collection of personalized and unused stockings on account of me. You see, my folks are so loving, generous, and welcoming that they have routinely added stockings for men I’ve had significant relationships with, as well as those men’s children.
I got to thinking about the symbolism here – about what those stockings really meant at the time they were presented. They meant that the recipient was welcomed and appreciated because of their significance to me. They were gestures of inclusion, and of generosity.
Now those stockings (if they haven’t been discarded) collect dust and are always empty. No specially selected gifts debated and purchased for those folks. No special touch of getting their name in glue and glitter along the cuff, making them feel a part of this very special family.
Come to think of it, I can’t recall anyone I’ve dated whose family has made a stocking for me, never mind my children. Perhaps that means nothing, but perhaps it’s symbolic of something more. I have a lot to offer in a relationship, and my family is one small part of that. I am exceedingly proud of who they are, what they stand for, and how they treat others. Being a part of this family means reaping the rewards of being around some amazing people. You get me, you get my family too.
Maybe someday I will find someone who can offer me the same – my own stocking, my own special place in their world. I’ve been with men who didn’t have much family, whose family was far away, and whose family viewed me as some kind of threat, a distraction, or an invasion. It would feel so good to be embraced and accepted and celebrated. Of course I’m not really concerned with the actual stocking, mind you. That’s just a silly symbol of something bigger and better.
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