The holidays are generally considered “the season of giving,” a roughly six-week period when we are all a tad more polite and a bit more generous with our time and money. We hear things like, “the Christmas spirit” when anyone does something remotely thoughtful or even just slightly less annoying than normal. Left a large tip? Let someone pass you in a line? Picked up your dog’s poop? That’s the Christmas spirit!
There’s also a lot of talk about “holiday heroes” this time of year. Those who work long hours delivering packages or stocking stores shelves — also anonymous donors who pay for someone’s groceries unexpectedly or buy presents for a family in need. Essential exemplars. Personally, I think elastic waistbands should qualify for holiday hero status, too, but I digress.
There are all sorts of reasons for our benevolence. Some of us get caught up in all the merriment and want to spread the joy; others take time to reflect on how fortunate they are and share what they can; some of us just need a tax write-off before the year ends. Perhaps a less recognized genre is one that I fell into a few years ago — the get-drunk-and-donate class. It includes alcohol and questionable, yet charitable, decision-making that you might not recall.
Three years ago, my philanthropic spirit was aroused while drinking and doom scrolling. I was upset about the Australian wildfires, had a few too many cocktails at a party, and, long story short, I ended up adopting a kangaroo, a wallaby and two koalas. It didn’t grasp any this until the following May, though. That’s when I’d noticed a sizable donation had been hitting my credit card every month. When I called to inquire, I learned that I had tearfully promised to provide food and medical care for several animals as long as they were at the sanctuary. Apparently, my only stated condition was that I also got to name them. When I asked the sanctuary worker what each animal was called, the man on the phone sighed and said, “Jacked Rabbit, Boop Snoot, Pina Koala and Roger.”
“Worth every penny,” I replied.
I occasionally receive email updates on my collection of marsupials. Each of my adopted animals suffered burns too severe for them to ever be released back into the wild, so now they’re more of an investment than a donation. By this time next year, I expect the kangaroo to be in grad school.
This is all a very lengthy way of suggesting that giving doesn’t have to look a certain way. Most of us likely have some indoctrinated belief that we must serve a hot meal at a shelter, or drop money in a collection plate, or pluck a tag off a tree and buy all of the items requested on it in order for our generosity to count. Count towards what, I couldn’t say. Do-gooder status? Extra points to make up for being a jerk? Some type of karmic trophy?
Obviously, food pantries need volunteers, and nonprofits need money, and we should help those who are less fortunate. But we’ve been conditioned to believe that if we aren’t doing those things — especially this time of year — we sort of suck. Which is unfortunate. No one should be contribution-shamed. Besides, a little creative giving can be just as impactful.
Take for example the city of Butte, Montana, where local courts are allowing most defendants to pay some of their fines with donations to the local food bank through December. For every 30 cans of food donated, their fines are reduced $150. Similar “food for fines” programs can be found in Grafton, Wisconsin; Greenville, South Carolina; and Burlington, Vermont, where canned goods can be used to pay off parking citations or other misdeeds.
I’m by no means encouraging anyone to break the law or donate under the influence just to say they gave. But a little out-of-the-gift-box thinking doesn’t hurt.