Date: Wed, 16 Dec 1998 12:09:47 -0500 From: Clarence_Griffin@ed.gov (Clarence Griffin) To: freebsd-questions@FreeBSD.ORG Subject: [Fwd: A Christmas Story!] Message-ID: <002E468B.003144@ed.gov>
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A Christmas Story
It's just a small, white envelope stuck among the branches of our Christmas
tree. No name, no identification, no inscription. It has peeked through the
branches of our tree for the past 10 years or so.
It all began because my husband Mike hated Christmas---oh, not the true
meaning of Christmas, but the commercial aspects of it-overspending ... the
frantic running around at the last minute to get a tie for Uncle Harry and
the dusting powder for Grandma---the gifts given in desperation because you
couldn't think of anything else.
Knowing he felt this way, I decided one year to bypass the usual shirts,
sweaters, ties and so forth. I reached for something special just for Mike.
The inspiration came in an unusual way.
Our son Kevin, who was 12 that year, was wrestling at the junior level at
the school he attended; and shortly before Christmas, there was a
non-league match against a team sponsored by an inner-city church, mostly black.
These youngsters, dressed in sneakers so ragged that shoestrings seemed to be
the only thing holding them together, presented a sharp contrast to our boys in
their spiffy blue and gold uniforms and sparking new wrestling shoes. As the
match began, I was alarmed to see that the other team was wrestling without
headgear, a kind of light helmet designed to protect a wrestler's ears. It was a
luxury the ragtag team obviously could not afford. Well, we ended up walloping
them. We took every weight class. And as each of their boys got up from the
mat, he swaggered around in his tatters with false bravado, a kind of street
pride that couldn't acknowledge defeat.
Mike, seated beside me, shook his head sadly, "I wish just one of them could
have won," he said. "They have a lot of potential, but losing like this could
take the heart right out of them."
Mike loved kids-all kids-and he knew them, having coached little league
football, baseball and lacrosse. That's when the idea for his present
came.
That afternoon, I went to a local sporting goods store and bought an assortment
of wrestling headgear and shoes and sent them anonymously to the church. On
Christmas Eve, I placed the envelope on the tree, the note inside telling Mike
what I had done and that this was his gift from me. His smile was the brightest
thing about Christmas that year and in succeeding years. For each Christmas, I
followed the tradition---one year sending a group of mentally handicapped
youngsters to a hockey game, another year a check to a pair of elderly brothers
whose home had burned to the ground the week before Christmas, and on and on.
The envelope became the highlight of our Christmas. It was always the last
thing opened on Christmas morning and our children, ignoring their new toys,
would stand with wide-eyed anticipation as their dad lifted the envelope from
the tree to reveal its contents. As the children grew, the toys gave way to
more practical presents, but the envelope never lost its allure. The story
doesn't end there.
You see, we lost Mike last year due to dreaded cancer. When Christmas rolled
around, I was still so wrapped in grief that I barely got the tree up. But
Christmas Eve found me placing an envelope on the tree, and in the morning, it
was joined by three more. Each of our children, unbeknownst to the others, had
placed an envelope on the tree for their dad. The tradition has grown and
someday will expand even further with our grandchildren standing around the tree
with wide-eyed anticipation watching as their fathers take down the envelope.
Mike's spirit, like the Christmas spirit, will always be with us.
May we all remember the true Christmas spirit this year and always.
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