Gift Motivation Was Puzzling, but He’s Getting the Picture

My mother sent me a jigsaw puzzle for Christmas. Intended as a present, it immediately struck me as a sign that I must come to grips with the pace of my psychological development. After all, this is the same present my parents gave me when I was 9. I almost expected her card to say, “Dear Scooter . . . “ Short of including a stocking stuffer with a certificate “good for an hour of psychotherapeutic counseling,” I wondered if Mom wasn’t trying to tell me something.

Fine. Just as I’m poised at the start of 1997 to commit myself to personal growth and looking ahead, along comes a toy to take me back. Thanks a lot, Mom.

She had told me a few weeks earlier that she’d found the “perfect gift” for me, and I had high hopes while unwrapping it. Because the puzzle pieces were confined inside a plastic bag inside the box, the present made no telltale jiggling sounds when shaken. So, when I undid the wrapping, let’s just say I was surprised.

OK, I thought, a child’s gift. At least it’s not tube socks.

The picture on the box gave me even more pause. Not even a panoramic pastoral scene or an historic European village, the picture depicted numerous puppies, each wearing red galoshes and sitting under umbrellas in the rain. Scads of terriers. It was not a Monet.

Sheesh, I thought, this would have been too simple even if I were still 9 years old. The different-colored umbrellas meant easy differentiation among the pieces. And speaking of pieces: only 750 of them! Surely Mom remembers that I used to routinely handle 1,500-piece jobbies with ease. And now this one--without even the problem of hundreds of identically-colored pieces of white sky or blue ocean--how could she possibly think I’d be challenged?

Had she thought I had sustained a severe brain injury? Did she judge my self-esteem to be so shot that she thought even succeeding at this level would buoy me? Had I become that much of a sad sack?

This was Christmas cake in a box. The only issue would be whether to complete the puzzle with one eye closed or not and while eating a sandwich. Child’s play. Is this a gift for a grown man?

It turned out to be not quite as it seemed.

Closer inspection of the box and contents revealed that this was no ordinary puzzle. For starters, it had no straight-edged pieces. That meant no clearly defined boundaries to the puzzle, no certainty that things would be as advertised. That is, what looked like an interior piece could be an edge.

Second, virtually every piece had the same shape, meaning no easy way to scan for obvious mates. Each piece had to be evaluated individually, on its own merits.

Third, five extra pieces that didn’t fit anywhere in the puzzle were included to throw the solver off track.

Fourth, the picture on the box cover bore no actual resemblance to the finished puzzle. I would be operating on instinct, luck and trial-and-error.

You must understand that when it came to puzzles, I had a system. It never varied: Do the border, then look for the most obvious interior clusters of pieces to put together. Put several of those clusters together and, pretty soon, there’s nothing left but the most difficult pieces, but with their numbers then small enough to manage.

The Man With the Plan.

Now, the plan was out the window. In front of me, spread out in seeming disarray on the card table, lay a different kind of opponent.

That was four nights ago. A normal puzzle would be finished now and back in the box and stored on a closet shelf, forgotten. Instead, many pieces still lay loose on the card table, eyeing me haughtily just as I eye them. My indecision of Day 1, though, has been replaced by certainty. A formidable foe, but a conquerable one.

It’s taking longer than I thought, but this picture will come together.

The cost so far has been a stiff neck, eye strain, late nights and time away from other pursuits. Nothing worth having comes free in this world. But the final picture is slowly coming into view, and it’s comforting to know that success will mean more this time around, because the task was harder and I had to be smarter.

I wonder if Mom thought of all that as she planned the perfect gift.

Forrest Gump’s mother told him life was like a box of chocolates. Obviously, my mother put much more thought into it than Mrs. Gump and realized that life is not a box of chocolates but a 750-piece jigsaw puzzle with ragged edges and uncertain dimensions but where the pieces eventually interlock if you keep your eyes open and stay flexible.

A puzzle, but a solvable one.

When you think about it, it makes an excellent gift.

Dana Parsons’ column appears Wednesday, Friday and Sunday. Readers may reach Parsons by writing to him at the Times Orange County Edition, 1375 Sunflower Ave., Costa Mesa, CA 92626, or calling (714) 966-7821.