SIMPLE 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 -- the
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 le vel 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 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 acknowledg e
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 youngster s to a hockey game, another year a check to a
pair of
& gt; 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 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! -- pass this
along to
> those friends and loved ones who you know are the givers who
understand
> the true meaning of Thanksgiving and Christmas.