Corine :D
A Little White Envelope
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. 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 sparkling 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 inner-city 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.
If
anyone knows the author of this, I'd like to link to her page if she has one
and also give credit to her. This is one of the most touching traditions I've
ever read.
See website to where I found this story below...
http://www.annien.com/Holidays/Christmas/ChristmasTraditions/christmas_traditions.html
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