A Conversation about Gifts

Sandy Lichtenstein

Sandy, do you think we got fewer gifts because we were twins?

Definitely, Linda. I remember one Chanukah when we got one “special” gift from Mom and Dad for the two of us to share—a clock radio.

Did that bother you?

I think it bothered me that we only got one gift for the holiday, but I didn’t mind sharing it. I mean we shared a room, we went to bed at the same time, we got up at the same time, what would be the point of two radios? I do think I was disappointed in the way it was wrapped—in newspaper.

Newspaper? I don’t remember that, Sandy. No way. Mom and Dad would never have done that.

Oh yeah. Newspaper. The comics section.

Well, what about our wedding gifts?

I don’t think we missed out on wedding gifts. We just got a lot of the same gifts.

I definitely think we got less expensive gifts than we otherwise would have gotten because people had to buy two gifts, since we had a double wedding. So we got a lot of the same stupid gifts. I think it was the year of the ice bucket.

Excuse me, Linda, but I don’t believe you received a silver plated sugar scoop.

What the hell is a sugar scoop?

I have no idea. That’s probably why it’s been in the basement, in the original box, for 35 years.

That must have come from Bob’s side of the family.

Definitely.

Well, at least we could share the thank you notes.

What do you mean?

You wrote all the notes, Sandy, and I addressed the envelopes.

I don’t remember that, Linda. But it makes sense. It’s more efficient. There are really only two or three standard notes. You just alternate version one with version two and insert the proper names. But are you sure we did that? The handwriting on the envelope wouldn’t have matched the handwriting on the note.

I don’t think we cared. And how about the gifts we got for our sixteenth birthday party?

We had a party for our sixteenth birthday? I don’t remember that. Were there boys there?

No, just girls. And don’t you remember the present we got from Nancy Krause?

No. I don’t even remember the party, Linda.

Nancy Krause gave us matching panty girdles.

Are you serious?

Yes, mine was blue and white striped and yours was pink and white striped.

On my God!

And I remember wearing this panty girdle once on a date, and in the middle of the evening I got a stomach ache because it was so tight, so I took it off and stuffed it into my pocketbook. Then when my date walked me to the door and I opened my pocketbook to get my key, there was my blue and white striped panty girdle, big as life, staring me in the face.

Well, at least you had dates.

I don’t think I had any more with that guy!

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Biographical Note: Sandy Lichtenstein grew up in Providence, Rhode Island with her twin sister Linda, and her older sister, Joan. They were always told that their girdles should be tight, and their Bermuda shorts loose. “Decent” meant that you were dressed appropriately, dogs were pets that other families had, your teachers were never wrong, the solution to all your problems was fresh air and exercise, and you always had to wear socks with your sneakers because Calvin Coolidge’s son died of an infected blister from going sockless while playing tennis. This piece is part of a book Sandy is writing with Linda, about growing up as a twin. It is a series of conversations exploring their memories of shared experiences, like their double wedding, (but not their husbands), that are sometimes the same and other times very different. See Author Index Prose L-Z for more of Sandy's stories.