fish4steel
12-13-2006, 10:31 AM
I received this by e-mail and thought I should share it with you all.
It's just a small white envelope stuck among the branches of ourChristmas 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 thetrue meaning of Christmas, but the commercial aspects of it -- theoverspending, the frantic running around at the last minute to get a tie for UncleHarry and the dusting powder for Grandma -- the gifts given in desperationbecause 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 forMike. The inspiration came in an unusual way. Our son Kevin, who was 12that year, was wrestling at the junior level at the school he attended.Shortly before Christmas, there was a non-league match against a teamsponsored by an inner-city church.These youngsters, dressed in sneakers so ragged that shoestrings seemed tobe the only thing holding them together, presented a sharp contrast toour boys in their spiffy blue and gold uniforms and sparkling new wrestlingshoes. As the match began, I was alarmed to see that the other team waswrestling without headgear, a kind of light helmet designed to protect awrestler's ears. It was a luxury the ragtag team obviously could not afford.Well, we ended walloping them. We took every weight class. And, as each oftheir boys got up from the mat, he swaggered around in his tatters withfalse 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 couldhave won," he said. "They have a lot of potential, but losing like thiscould take the heart right out of them." Mike loved kids -- all kids -- andhe knew them, having coached little league football, baseball, and lacrosse.That's when the idea for his present came. That afternoon, I went to alocal sporting goods store and bought an assortment of wrestling headgearand shoes and sent them anonymously to the inner-city church. OnChristmas Eve, I placed the envelope on the tree, the note inside telling Mike whatI had done and that this was his gift from me. His smile was the brightestthing about Christmas that year and in succeeding years. For eachChristmas, I followed the tradition -- one year sending a group of mentallyhandicapped youngsters to a hockey game, another year a check to a pair ofelderly brothers whose home had burned to the ground the week beforeChristmas, and on and on. The envelope became the highlight of ourChristmas. It was always the last thing opened on Christmas morning, andour children, ignoring their new toys, would stand with wide-eyedanticipation as their dad lifted the envelope from the tree to reveal itscontents.As the children grew, the toys gave way to more practical presents, but theenvelope never lost its allure. The story doesn't end there. You see,welost Mike last year due to cancer. When Christmas rolled around, I wasstill so wrapped in grief that I barely got the tree up. But ChristmasEve found me placing an envelope on the tree, and in the morning it wasjoined by three more. Each of our children, unbeknownst to the others, hadplaced an envelope on the tree for their dad. The tradition has grown andsomeday will expand even further with our grandchildren standing around the treewith wide-eyed anticipation watching as their fathers take down the envelope.Mike's spirit, like the Christmas spirit, will always be with us. May weall remember Christ, who is the reason for the season, and the trueChristmas spirit this year and always. God Bless! -- pass this along tothose friends and loved ones who you know are the givers who understandthe true meaning of Thanksgiving and Christmas.:angel:
It's just a small white envelope stuck among the branches of ourChristmas 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 thetrue meaning of Christmas, but the commercial aspects of it -- theoverspending, the frantic running around at the last minute to get a tie for UncleHarry and the dusting powder for Grandma -- the gifts given in desperationbecause 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 forMike. The inspiration came in an unusual way. Our son Kevin, who was 12that year, was wrestling at the junior level at the school he attended.Shortly before Christmas, there was a non-league match against a teamsponsored by an inner-city church.These youngsters, dressed in sneakers so ragged that shoestrings seemed tobe the only thing holding them together, presented a sharp contrast toour boys in their spiffy blue and gold uniforms and sparkling new wrestlingshoes. As the match began, I was alarmed to see that the other team waswrestling without headgear, a kind of light helmet designed to protect awrestler's ears. It was a luxury the ragtag team obviously could not afford.Well, we ended walloping them. We took every weight class. And, as each oftheir boys got up from the mat, he swaggered around in his tatters withfalse 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 couldhave won," he said. "They have a lot of potential, but losing like thiscould take the heart right out of them." Mike loved kids -- all kids -- andhe knew them, having coached little league football, baseball, and lacrosse.That's when the idea for his present came. That afternoon, I went to alocal sporting goods store and bought an assortment of wrestling headgearand shoes and sent them anonymously to the inner-city church. OnChristmas Eve, I placed the envelope on the tree, the note inside telling Mike whatI had done and that this was his gift from me. His smile was the brightestthing about Christmas that year and in succeeding years. For eachChristmas, I followed the tradition -- one year sending a group of mentallyhandicapped youngsters to a hockey game, another year a check to a pair ofelderly brothers whose home had burned to the ground the week beforeChristmas, and on and on. The envelope became the highlight of ourChristmas. It was always the last thing opened on Christmas morning, andour children, ignoring their new toys, would stand with wide-eyedanticipation as their dad lifted the envelope from the tree to reveal itscontents.As the children grew, the toys gave way to more practical presents, but theenvelope never lost its allure. The story doesn't end there. You see,welost Mike last year due to cancer. When Christmas rolled around, I wasstill so wrapped in grief that I barely got the tree up. But ChristmasEve found me placing an envelope on the tree, and in the morning it wasjoined by three more. Each of our children, unbeknownst to the others, hadplaced an envelope on the tree for their dad. The tradition has grown andsomeday will expand even further with our grandchildren standing around the treewith wide-eyed anticipation watching as their fathers take down the envelope.Mike's spirit, like the Christmas spirit, will always be with us. May weall remember Christ, who is the reason for the season, and the trueChristmas spirit this year and always. God Bless! -- pass this along tothose friends and loved ones who you know are the givers who understandthe true meaning of Thanksgiving and Christmas.:angel: