I must share this with all:

[Guest guest]

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 , 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.

May we all remember the reason for the season, and

the true Christmas spirit this year and always. God bless---pass

this along to your friends and loved ones.