Dad Daze: Finally, there is peace on Earth with gift-giving

It used to be so easy buying presents for the kids. When my daughters were young, it was always about princess garb, cool clothing and dolls and, of course, doll houses. Jillian loved moon shoes, Barbies and Polly Pockets, and nothing topped Madeleine’s digs. Legos, train sets, I can’t express how much I miss Thomas the Tank Engine, trucks and anything sports-oriented pleased my sons. When my children reached their teen years, bigger was the only way to impress. To date, the kid’s favorite presents were the bubble hockey game and the pinball machine.

Regarding the latter, I’ve always been big on surprises. It’s not easy to transport an object as large and heavy as a pinball machine into your house.

Seven years ago, I dropped off the pinball machine I found on Craigslist into a neighbor’s garage. The trick was to move it into the house during Christmas Eve after the children finally fell asleep around midnight. My pal Zach, his brother and yours truly carried the Rambo model about 75 yards, primarily in the dark over a grassy knoll, to my door.

My wife was asleep on the couch, and somehow we set it in the living room without waking her. I couldn’t resist. “Let’s plug it in and play a game,” I said while pushing my luck. “You’re crazy,” Zach whispered loudly. “You want this to be a surprise? You’ll wake everyone up!” I played one game and failed to disturb anyone. The kids were blown away the following morning. A few months later, a neighbor openly admired what he witnessed from the street. “I can’t think of anything cooler than having a pinball machine in a living room,” he said.

My children agreed with him, but I can’t say the same for my wife. The bubble hockey game has remained an obsession for my sons Eddie, 19, and Milo, 16. That’s so even away from home. They never ever get tired of rod hockey. Three of my favorite gifts were essentially for Jillian. Dodger, a golden retriever puppy, remains my eldest’s top present of all time. I’ll never forget how casual she was strolling down the steps certain that it was going to be a bland year for gifts since she was 16, an age difficult to impress with a gift.

As soon as Jillian laid her eyes on Dodger, tears streamed down her face. “What is it?” Jillian asked incredulously. “It’s a bird,” Milo cracked. It was an 8-week-old puppy, a lovable companion, who found an immediate space in my most emotional child’s heart. My wife was so touched by the video of Jillian emoting uncontrollably that she is demanding that it be played on a loop at her funeral as an example of family happiness.

Jillian was over the moon at 12 when she received piano lessons followed by talent shows, followed by concerts in local watering holes with Jillian belting out songs such as Fleetwood Mac’s “Rhiannon” while banging away on the ivories. And then there was Jillian’s desk when she was 9 years old. Jillian was very skeptical of Santa Claus’ existence. However, I explained that the proof of St. Nick going from chimney to chimney is that the desk had to be assembled.

“You know how inept your dad is,” I said. “There’s no way I could have put this desk together, correct?” Jillian laughed. “You’re right,” Jillian said “There must be a Santa Claus because you never would have been able to put the desk together.” When Jillian was 7 years old, she received a game-used baseball bat signed by her first baseball hero, Jim Thome, and sobbed. The trick this year is to surprise my children so they’re not reduced to tears of the sad variety.

Since my children are sick of surprises, and I’m hard-pressed to come up with anything as titillating as a pinball machine, I asked Milo if he wanted a new Xbox. “Do you really think that’s a good idea?” he asked. Milo kicked his video game addiction in July and has great grades for the first time since he’s been in utero. The surprisingly mature Milo said he doesn’t want anything for Christmas. “I know how much the gym costs every month, so I’m fine with whatever this year since I just want to work out,” Milo said. “Why not ask Jane what she wants?”

It’s not easy shopping for a tween. Jane, 12, finally received a phone to go with a vaccination on her birthday. “I can’t think of anything more than a new basketball,” Jane said. “I have everything else. I even have enough clothes. Can you get me something like you did last year, like the Taylor Swift shirts and sweater? I love those clothes.”

Jane’s “Folklore” sweater is like Linus’ blanket. It’s always on Jane or draped around her waist, and it was one of her favorite Christmas presents. And then there’s Eddie. “I really don’t know what I want,” Eddie said. “I have the car, and that’s huge.” I recently gave Eddie some used wheels, which is all he ever requested. “Maybe an oil change,” Eddie said. “I really don’t know what I want.”

Jillian is fairly content, as well. “You did the 23 & Me for Milo,” Jillian said. “That would be pretty cool. I would like to see how similar my genetics are. Vinyl is always a great gift. How about you surprise me?” Sure. Jillian should familiarize herself with Sonic Youth’s brilliant “Daydream Nation,” Gram Parson’s autumnal “GP” and Soul Coughing’s eccentric “Ruby Vroom.”

Maybe the best gift for me this year is that for the first time in forever, I don’t have to worry about splurging on an object to surprise or impress since my children possess enough material objects. And the same can be said for me. Jillian is happy with her boyfriend and job in New York. Eddie, a college sophomore, is figuring it out. Milo is an excellent student for the first time in his life.

And Jane, who has always had the best grades among my children, continues to lead a quietly spectacular life. The worst I can say about her is that for some reason, she hopes to become a journalist. The best gift for yours truly is that there is no demand for a particular gift, and so there is finally peace during Christmastime in the Condran home.