The shit blog of Paul Chris Jones

It's impossible to buy a present for my dad

31st March 2022 Paul Chris Jones

Buying presents for my dad is impossible. What the fuck does he want? What the fuck does he want???!! Who the fuck knows!

My mom was happy with anything. You could give her a piece of string and she'd be grateful. She liked homemade gifts the best. Make her a card and draw a shitty picture on the front and she was delighted.

My dad, on the other hand, is impossible to buy a present for. No matter what I got him, he never showed any genuine excitement or appreciation. Fake appreciation, sure, but never anything genuine. The problem was that he never wanted to receive anything. He was a provider, not a receiver.

The first presents

When I was little, I made cards for my dad on his birthday and Father’s Day. But I couldn’t buy him presents because I didn't have any money. So my siblings and I used to give him things out of the drawer: paperclips, the lids off ballpoint pens, staples, and drawing pins. I don't think he appreciated a handful of staples and drawing pins very much.

Galaxy

I would ask my dad what we wanted for his birthday/Christmas/Father's Day and he would just shrug and say, "I don't know. Don't waste your money on me."

That wasn't very helpful. I wanted to get him something.

My failsafe gift was a bar of Galaxy chocolate. Galaxy chocolate was the only thing that gave my dad any joy. That and cups of tea. (He only drinks tea, never water.) So on every Father's Day, his birthday and Christmas, I'd present my dad a bar of Galaxy. He was always fairly happy with that, at least.

Christmas 2002

I didn't want to keep giving Galaxy chocolate to my dad every year. It felt cheap, repetitive and unimaginative. Plus, by giving him chocolate, I was contributing to my dad's heart disease and obesity, and possible early death.

So for Christmas 2002, I got my dad Roller Coaster Tycoon 2 for the computer. It's a great game and it only cost me £5.

But he never once played it. Not once. I think he didn't have time: he was doing a Master's degree and had four children to look after. He didn't have time to play computer games.

It was okay though because my brother and I got hours of enjoyment out of playing that game. So the present wasn't a waste at least.

Christmas 2008

It was 2008. I had the perfect Christmas present for my dad. I wrapped it up nicely, like the presents you see in American movies, with a bow and everything.

On Christmas day, my dad opened the present.

"A teapot?" he said. It was a white, china teapot.

"Yeah!" I said. "So you can make proper cups of tea!"

My dad loves tea so surely he'd go crazy for a teapot.

But he looked unsure. To him, a proper cup of tea was made with a teabag.

I waited with excitement for my dad to use the teapot but he never did. I soon found it in a cupboard under the sink. It stayed there for years until it disappeared one day - probably thrown away.

It shows you how difficult it is to buy presents for my dad. I had thought the teapot was a perfect present considering how much he likes tea. But no. He likes tea but not a teapot. He just wanted to keep making tea the way he had always done - with a teabag.

Christmas 2009

My dad was into the TV show The Wire. He really liked it, and would talk about with real enthusiasm

So for Christmas 2009, I got my dad a book about the making of the The Wire. He never read it. The book just sat on the shelf, unread, for years.

Christmas 2015

For Christmas 2015, I got my dad a set that was supposed to help you find your lost keys. The idea is, when you've lost your keys, instead of shouting "WHERE'S MY BASTARD KEYS WHERE'S MY BASTARD KEYS" like my dad always did, you simply walk over to the device, press the button on it, and the keychain on your keys will make a sound, letting you know where it is.

It worked well at first. Every time my dad lost his keys, which was maybe two or three times a day, he would refrain from swearing and instead use this little device, and he would immediately find his keys. It was great at first.

But after a few months, the battery in the key chain ran out, and he never replaced it. Now the entire thing is useless. He still has the key chain on his keys, though. He can't even be bothered to remove it.

Conclusion

So what does my dad want? What the fuck does he want?!

I think, what he really wants, is to be left alone. That's his ideal day: the house to himself. That, and a bar of Galaxy.

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Bar of galaxy is the go

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Paul Chris Jones is a writer and dad living in Girona, Spain. You can follow Paul on Instagram, YouTube and Twitter.