A Seasonal Story that Matches the Vision of Giving Inspired by Ginny Dye and Together We Can Change the World

“For the Man Who Hated Christmas”

by Nancy W. Gavin

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 ten 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. 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 to take down the envelope.

Mike’s spirit, like the Christmas spirit will always be with us.

For complete info on this story:
http://www.whiteenvelopeproject.org/originalstory.html

Monday's Mania --- Day 13

Day 13

Today was a beautiful and crisp day, and c-o-l-d. So cold that my heater fan was frozen. What an awful sound it made as I went to warm up my car after sitting in the frigid cold for a few days, snow still covering its windows and hood. Thankfully, the sun had already been working its magic, yet the wind howled in my ears and my fingers turned icy in seconds. They weren't kidding when they said this was an Arctic Chill ;-).

We got Big Z to school and he was happy. Happy for our impending trip south. He could care less about the details, and instead says, "Mom. I'd be happy to leave now." Or, "Mom, let's just go now." He could care less about making sure the car has fuel, or the engine will run, or the wipers will wash away the myriad debris from the window as we drive 1200 miles. He just wants the adventure to begin. And NOW. You get that don't you? NOW.

Precisely what we need to be doing in our businesses, right?

Another good bit of advice he had when the heater didn't work and we froze the whole way to his school (thankfully, it's not far, but I was the one in the car all day and felt it), "Mom, I think we should just kick out the window if it's frozen when we leave in the morning. We can't wait on the heater to defrost it. We have to just GO!" I told him I'd really rather wait for the sun to come up than to kick out my windshield and drive down the freeway with the wind (and that debris we spoke about) mucking up my contact lenses, and giving me a new kind of "bug feeling" in my teeth. Not to mention my chapped skin . . . Hey, we older folks have to protect our flesh!

Ah, well, the day moved on with the many details to check off before a trip. The best part was learning that I didn't need a transmission after all ;-). All systems are go on the rig, and after a few hours in the icy cold, I was glad to get my body back inside for a bit to thaw. Before I left the shop, though, I gave a card to my mechanic. He was humored by my questions and concerns, and my statements that clearly showed him that I haven't taken my automotive shop class yet.

As he drove me around the icy roads at about 20 m.p.h. faster than I would drive them, he asked, "So, you comfortable driving in this stuff?" He's from the mid-west, and it's a breeze for him. This led to a conversation about making extra money, getting little sleep, attorneys fees, and what-have-you. I told him I could identify, still not having a job (oh, maybe you didn't know that yet, but it's true). And, that after my last trip to CA to say good-bye to my step-Dad before he passes on, that I'd come to the conclusion that our hope is in Big Z's business. So, since he was going to be on the Internet looking at how he could change his airfare to see his fiance in China, he might as well look up http://www.bigzgivesbig.com/ and check it out. I even told him I wouldn't bother him about follow-up, that I trust that he'll get in touch with me if he likes what he sees.

Now, mind you, he's delivering 3 routes of papers before his mechanic's job, in the wee morning hours, to earn extra cash. I asked him, "When do you have time to sleep?" Well, he's not getting much of that this last year as he's socking away what he can to help get his Fiance over to America. He doesn't necessarily have time to spend growing a business, but then, I've heard over and over over the years (that's a lot of overs) that it's sometimes the most busy of folks that actually get things done. It's unlikely I'll be able to keep my word, because when I go back for my next oil change, you know I'll be talking to him ;-).

Big Z had a great day at school and he ended it with a play date with one of his good friends. He's asleep now, and that's where I should be. The cold zapped my energy today and sleep is much needed for the trip south.

Looks like we'll have a window of time to make it past Redding, CA before more snow dumps on us (we hope!). The earlier we start, the better for all. However . . . though all are being tucked into bed, I still have more details to attend to either now or before we roll south . . .

I emailed the nice young mom from the credit union tonight. The snow may have prevented her from getting to a computer yet, but, I promised to let her know if we head out of town.