Gifts from Mom, a passion for fishing from Dad

CEDAR RAPIDS — Somewhere in a corner of our basement there's a tote filled with Christmas curiosities.

They were gifts from a loving mother with a big heart who loved to shop. Mom's idea of a great day was a blue-light special on insulated flannel shirts at Kmart or a closeout on fish ties at JCPenney.

She was forever on the lookout for the perfect gift. Sometimes, she had half of the next year's Christmas shopping done before the boxes and wrapping paper from the current Christmas reached the garbage truck.

One of the greatest gifts my dad gave my brothers and I was a love for hunting, fishing and everything outdoors. So, when mom asked us boys what we wanted for Christmas, we typically had a couple of specific things. It might be a Mitchell 300 spinning reel, a certain Plano tackle box or a build-it-yourself muzzleloader kit.

Still, Christmas morning always came with surprises. That's the part mom loved most. When she'd hold back one gift until the very end and eagerly wait for you to open it, you knew it was something really special.

Fashion wasn't one of mom's strong points. Those insulated flannel shirts she thought would be ideal for our cold-weather adventures made us look like the Pillsbury Doughboy, and you couldn't move your arms more than a few inches when the weather required another layer of protection from the cold.

One year, she found blue denim jackets embroidered with flowery designs for my brother, Dallas, and me. One night at a local pub, a couple of pimple-faced punks whose judgment may have been impaired by more than Bud Light started to ridicule Dallas and his jacket. Eventually, we had to take them outside for a more spirited altercation.

Another Christmas morning brought incredibly itchy wool sweaters. Mine featured a large rooster pheasant on the front. Dallas got one with a Cheasapeake Bay retriever. I haven't worn a sweater since.

Mom never passed by a bargain bin, either.

I never had much interest in bass fishing back then, but that tote in the basement has several small boxes of plastic "creature craws," bass jigs and a panfish kit. There's a Winchester knife set in there, too, a variety of multi-function tools (I have others in my truck, my ice fishing tent and my boat), a flashlight or three and a wristwatch that doesn't work with a trout on the face.

Need a deer antler salt and pepper shaker set? How about a camping mess kit? Maybe a fish stringer or a variety pack of bobbers?

Somewhere through the years, I lost track of my Big Mouth Billy Bass.

These days, Christmas morning doesn't have the same magic or personality. Mom can't get out and shop like she used to, and I haven't looked across the room to see my wife, Nancy, raise her eyebrows slightly and smile while I hold up one of mom's special gifts. Now it's all about gift cards.

Sometimes, mom's gifts missed their mark. Sometimes, they ended up in that basement tote. But every time I knew they were gifts from the heart.

It's the thought that counts.