I know I've told this story before, but after thousands of posts over eleven years, I can't find it, so I will retell it here:

One Christmas eve when Riley was a young boy, about eight or nine, I spent it with him and his mom up at grandma's condo in Bellevue. I was doing well, making good money as a paratransit driver, and I might have even made supervisor by then.

I kinda went overboard in the gift department for Riley, and brought them into the house from my vehicle, and stashed them in a little room off of grandma's living room, while they were in the kitchen.

As the evening progressed, we started opening gifts. I had one stashed under the tree for each of them, and Riley enjoyed his present, whatever it was.

Everyone was in a nice Christmas buzz, when I said, Oh wait, I have another present for Riley, and retrieved it from the room. I did this three times, each gift outdoing the previous. I thought I was being cool, trying to give Riley a memorable Christmas!

As I pulled out the last one, I recall a pained look on mom and grandma's faces that I can only describe as Really?, and I realized at that moment that I had fucked up.

I think that's when my issue with Christmas gift giving started. Hell, I can't even remember what the gifts were, and I'll bet neither can Riley...

This occured well after he and I were homeless, and living in a box on a friends back porch...

Here's grandma's condo from a later Christmas: