[4th offering of the “best grif.net” of sixteen Christmases]
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 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.
~~
Dr Bob Griffin
[email protected] www.grif.net
“Jesus Knows Me, This I Love!”