This is a wonderful story, and I hope by passing it on some will be encourged to do something similiar this Christmas..I plan on doing this at my home this year... Fran Namotka A Christmas Story >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.