FOODFORTHOUGHT

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 ave 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. God bless---pass this
along to your friends and loved ones.