No Yankee Here

Twelve years ago I attended my first Yankee Swap.  For the uninitiated this is a strange custom of the NE of the USA.  Let me explain.

You gather a group of friends, associates, book club, bible study etc members together just before Christmas.  All have already agreed upon a limit as to what can be spent on each gift.  Everyone comes with one gift already wrapped.  Numbers are drawn.  The first person selects a gift from the pile and opens it.  Then the second person selects a gift.  If that person prefers the gift that the first person got they 'swap' it for the one they have before them.  So onto the third person.  After the last person has opened, and perhaps exchanged, the last gift the first person has the opportunity to select the gift they with to exchange for the one they now have.  You can understand how the so-called swap might result in unpleasantness.  Everyone has to be willing to take the entire occasion as good fun.  Most of the time the spending limit is low and the gifts are of the coffee cup variety.  

My first Yankee Swap was with a group of older women.  All of them understood the rules of the swap.  I did not.  There seemed to me something rather strange about taking something away from another person because you wanted it and replacing it with something you did not want.  I sat with the number four (of ten) wondering what lie beneath the wrapping paper of each parcel.  The first three gifts were duly swapped. Lumbering to my feet I chose my gift.  Opening it I discovered two ghastly coffee mugs and a packet of marshmallows.  The mugs were heavy and decorated in loud colours and patterns.  Unsure what I should do I chose the very British way of saying how nice they were before choosing to keep them.  If nothing else about the swap was certain one thing was - no one would swap my choice for anything else.  I was correct.  I took my gift home wondering if re-gifting them the following year was a possibility. 

The next Yankee Swap I went to I decided to get into the spirit of the thing.  Then I opened the present!  It was a lovely little silver bracelet.  I stared at the darn thing pondering what I should do.  Before I thought I had made a decision I blurted out that if anyone wanted the bracelet I would be very upset.  The faces of my fellow swappers reflected the horror they felt at my possessiveness. It was not in the spirit of the occasion. It was not part of a Yankee Swap.  I had transgressed the unspoken rules of the swap. It was far to late for me to suggest that I had been joking.  The remainder of the swap was done around me with numerous comments about not wanting to upset me.

By the time I went to another Yankee Swap I understood that no matter what I chose I must be willing to surrender it in good spirits. This time I was the first person to approach the pile of presents.  I  had chosen a scarf and gloves decorated with snowmen.  The next person kept their gift.  The next person took that of person two.  Person four took that of person two.  Then a lovely vase was unwrapped. Silence.  Person number six swapped her diary and pen set for the vase.  Person seven swapped for the vase. The vase made its way down the line.  No one had anything they would rather keep than swap for the vase. The last person took the vase and placed it carefully in front of her.  I considered my options. Take the vase and give her my scarf and gloves. Keep the scarf and gloves and make everyone else feel that I was trying to tell them that they had been selfish.  Yet the spirit of the Yankee Swap is really about being selfish.  It is supposedly done in the spirit of fun but underlying that lies a reversal of the order of the season. Instead of getting something that one might not want and having to smile and say how much you like it the rules of a Yankee Swap gives you social permission to reject a gift without giving offense.  Unless you are an outsider.  If you are an outsider then the rules change.  How much you belong to the group depends on what you can accept and reject.  

So I sat contemplating the vase - by far the best gift on the table, and at the same time considering my position within the group.  I had known everyone for a few years but to say they were my friends might be pushing the definition of the term.  Lovely as the vase was if I wanted to show real membership I had to make a offering to a goddess of friendship I had to surrender the right to the vase.

I lost the gloves within a few weeks and the scarf made me itch.  

At my next Yankee Swap I opted for the more of a genuine gift idea.  I gave a fifteen hundred piece within the price range.  It was the sort of gift that I thought the gathering would enjoy.  

Wrong!

Very wrong!

Horribly wrong!

The recipient of the gift turned a deep shade of puce when he opened it.  Clearly, he remarked, the purchaser of the item did not understand the idea of a Yankee Swap.  On this occasion alcohol or chocolate were what should have been bought, according to him.  As the other gifts were handed out no one took the puzzle from the person who had been forced to hand over a bottle of wine in exchange for the puzzle.  When it was my turn I relieved the person of the puzzle.  The original recipient of it gave me a piercing look as I said that I thought the puzzle was a good idea.  Another mental note to self - another misstep in the Yankee Swap debacle. 

Since then I have not accepted any invitations to Yankee Swaps.  I may be an American but I have accepted the fact that I am not a Yankee.  I think it is rather like being Welsh, or Cornish - one is born a Yankee, one can not become one.

So I am instituting the Zimbabwean Swap.  Bring a bottle and a glass.  Pour liquid into glass. Swap it.  Drink. Pour liquid into glass. Swap it. 

Merry Holiday Season to one and all.