Flamingo Girl
December 23rd, 2004, 10:24 PM
The White Envelope
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. 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 the 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.
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. 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 the 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.