Gifts Seniors Hate (Even if You Wrap Them Nicely)

In my last column, we learned how to avoid gift-giving blunders and deliver smiles to faces all around the Christmas tree—well-researched advice. But having recently joined the Social Security beneficiary society, I offer even more pointed guidance for all who want to please those of us still around to open presents. It may also keep you in the will.

First, the no-nos. You may live in a world enamored with technology, but we are not so easily seduced. Please don’t gift us with anything that must be “synced,” “paired,” “registered,” or “activated.” If your gift requires a twelve-character password, a companion app, or scans our retinas before allowing us to change the volume, please return it to whatever diabolical laboratory spawned it.

We’re not opposed to technology. We use the internet, texting, and online banking every day. We’re just opposed to hassles. So, if you insist on gifting a whizbang gadget, assemble it, charge it, program it, and make sure it is plug-and-play. Additionally, you must sign a two-year availability contract for troubleshooting when the dang thing quits working. We will never read a manual in 8-point font or scan a QR code to reinvigorate the digital contraption. 

We also do not want plants. At our age, we have tended enough things—children, careers, aging parents, relationships, and occasionally our own sanity. The era of nurturing helpless organisms is over. If your gift is alive, needs misting, or will wilt upon sensing fear, it does not belong in our homes. And don’t even consider a companion animal!

While we’re on the subject of clutter, don’t give us knickknacks. We can do without cutesy trinkets, colorful figurines, and inspirational decorative plaques; we’re worn out on inspiration. If it occupies a horizontal surface, requires dusting, or elicits a Hallmark emotion, keep it away from us.

And please, under no circumstances give us a self-help book. At this stage of life, we are finished “unlocking our potential,” learning how to “Let Them,” and “becoming our best selves.” Our best selves are the ones currently wearing comfortable clothes, sleeping late, and not being lectured by a 29-year-old podcaster about mindfulness.

While we’re at it, resist the urge to improve our efficiency with apps that manage calendars, finances, or health. We already have a system that has worked for decades. That’s why we show up to our appointments, stay solvent, and aren’t yet dead.

So, what do we want? Experiences, especially ones with our children and grandchildren. Take us to dinner—don’t hand us a restaurant gift card and a gentle suggestion to “use the app” to make the reservation. Make the reservation for us. Take us to a concert, a play, a museum, a ballgame. Sit with us, laugh with us, and listen (as long as you can) to our recollections. If you’ve already heard this history, feel free to zone out, just don’t remind us of the repetition.

We want gifts that make life easier, not more complicated. Things with real buttons. Devices with a single purpose. A printed instruction manual in a font larger than primordial microbe size. Something that doesn’t chirp in the night and demand we install an update before it will resume functioning. But if you can deliver a gizmo that will reset our libidos to 1970s levels, we will gladly read instruction manuals in 4-point fonts and be eternally grateful.

The truth is, we have reached the elegant point in life where our needs are few, our patience is limited, and our priority is time with people we love. So, this Christmas season, simplify your shopping. Skip the clutter. Avoid tempting purchases that require tending, watering, or dusting, and—for goodness’ sake—reject anything that chirps, syncs, updates, or arrives with a charging cable longer than a small intestine. 

Give us something we want: a shared moment, a shared meal, a shared memory. Trust me: it will be the most treasured gift you ever give. That is, unless you discover the libido refresher.