Unicorn (Unicorn@Indenial.com)
Sun, 13 Dec 1998 10:19:32 -0500
One doesn't have to be a Christian to embrace the tradition
of giving.
LadyHawke
~*~*~*~*~*~*
"The Tradition"
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 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.
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