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, 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.
Author unknown. If anyone has a proprietary interest in this story please authenticate and I will be happy to credit, or remove, as the circumstances dictate.
Thanks to Sherry's Inspirational list smkeith@aol.com