Re: a christmas story

[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 Christ, who is the reason for the season, and the    true  Christmas spirit this year and always.    God bless.

[Guest guest]

Totally beautiful! Thank YOu for sharing this wonderful gift!

debby

Re: [ ]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 , 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 Christ, who is the reason for the season, and the true Christmas spirit this year and always. God bless.