Prompts

Your best gift or your all-time favorite gift. — Prompt #28

You can use these prompts to write memoir, fiction, poetry, or to just write. It doesn’t matter what your genre is, you can use these prompts to develop the craft of writing.  You can respond to the prompt from your personal experience or as a fictional character would respond.

Here we go:

There are tacky gifts, insulting gifts, selfish gifts the giver secretly wants, cheap gifts and re-gifted gifts.

But some gifts are transcendent. Have you ever received such a perfect gift? One that amazed you with its imagination? Perhaps it was a gift that completely touched your heart, changed your life, opened a new world? Maybe it was a gift so dear you held onto it for a lifetime.  What was it and why was it so special to you?

Prompt:  Your best gift or your all-time favorite gift.

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One comment

  1. Kathy Myers

    The best gift of all

    Grandma’s Rambler sedan pulled into the driveway. Now it’s Christmas— even though it’s a week away. We ran out just as she opened the door and shouted “I’ll need some help here.” The mound of packages in the back seat with mismatched wrap and all dolled up with worn plastic corsages, lacked any sophistication— just like grandma. The scent coming from the foil wrapped ham riding shotgun did “Set yer mouth to watering.” like all of grandma’s cooking.
    We had to wait until after dinner to open presents, so we shoveled down our ham, scalloped potatoes and green beans seasoned with onions and a hunk of salt pork. While the grownups relaxed with cocktails, little sister Laurie crawled under the table and put her head on grandma’s lap. She stroked Laurie’s hair gently, “Just lookin’ for bugs.” she’d say, her touch having the power to hypnotize with relaxation.
    “Well..what do you say we open those presents.” she finally said.
    “Yaaaaay!” we hollered and ran to the den. Grandma played Santa, passing out her gifts and telling us to wait for her signal before we unwrapped— the longest two minutes of the year.
    “O.K. go.” she said and we ripped through the tacky wrap and corsages. My gift was a dream come true for any eight-year old girl— telephones, two black plastic phones with real dials connected by a long roll of line. The picture on the box showed two girls chatting across squiggly lines representing distance. I imagined the distance would be from my bedroom to Donna Merryweather’s next door. The phones operated on the low tech tin can on a string theory and worked about as well, but I didn’t care.
    “Thank you gram, I love it.” I said, giving her a hug and accepting her wet kiss on my cheek. For the first time ever I didn’t wipe it off. I was old enough to know there was no Santa Claus, but that day I knew what was real—it was this generous woman who was delighted to spoil her boisterous grandkids. When my mom accused her of “going overboard” gram said “How else should I spend my money? Besides, you’ve never seen a hearse with luggage on top.”
    Years later I was reminiscing with cousin Dennis about grandma and shared my moment of maturity in not wiping off her kisses. He smiled and said he had the same right of passage, letting her kiss dry untouched on his cheek. We laughed till we cried — with the thought of how we miss her damp kisses and warm embrace the week before Christmas.

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