Christmas Story: For the Man Who Hated Christmas
By Nancy W. Gavin
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 ten
years.
It all began because my husband Mike
hated Christmas. Oh, not the true meaning of Christmas, but the commercial
aspects of it – overspending and 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 on the wrestling team at the school he attended. 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. 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. He so enjoyed coaching 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
a small, white envelope on the tree, the note inside telling Mike what I had
done, and that this was his gift from me.
Mike's smile was the brightest thing
about Christmas that year. And that same bright smile lit up 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 white 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 small, white 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 the next morning, I
found it was magically joined by three more. Unbeknownst to the others, each of
our three children had for the first time placed a white envelope on the tree
for their dad. The tradition has grown and someday will expand even further
with our grandchildren standing to take down that special envelope.
Mike's spirit, like the Christmas spirit,
will always be with us.
I would love to hear about your
experience after you've done your envelope!
