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. 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 the 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 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.
Happy Holidays!
December is one of my favorite months as it’s the month of lights, and the month of giving, and thanking. I received this mail from my friend Debra this evening, and wanted to share it. I really think it touches all of us in many ways. As it is said you can never give or receive too many mizvot (in Jewish it’s the act of giving) Maybe it could be your “WHITE ENVELOPE”.
卡在圣誕樹枝上的只是一個很小的白色信封，沒有姓名，沒有身份，也沒有留言。這封放在樹枝上的信已經有10多年歷史了。
事情的開始是由于丈夫邁克不喜歡圣誕節——哦，并不是真指圣誕節，而是它的商業化——超支了……為了給哈利叔叔買領帶，給奶奶買爽身粉，他在圣誕來臨之際跑這跑那——只能送這些禮物，因為根本也想不出別的東西。
有一年，我知道他也這么想，就決定不再像以往那樣買襯衫、毛衣、領帶之類的東西。我靈感突現，想為邁克準備一個特殊的禮物。
那年，兒子凱文12歲，正在學校里練習初級摔跤。就在圣誕節前，他們有一項非組織性的比賽要舉行，他們的對手由市里一家教堂贊助。那些少年穿的運動鞋破舊不堪，好像腳上就剩下鞋帶了。我們這邊的孩子一律身著金藍色的衣服和嶄新的摔跤鞋，著裝與和他們形成鮮明的對比。
比賽開始后，有人叫我去看看對方的情形，他們沒有戴那種旨在保護摔跤選手耳朵的淺色護頭。對他們這樣的隊伍來說那太奢侈了，很明顯他們買不起。因此，最終我們隊給了他們猛烈的打擊，并且也打敗了所有的舉重班。那些男孩從墊子上站起來時，還故意穿著破舊的衣服，虛張聲勢地走來走去，帶著一種不承認失敗的街頭傲慢。
邁克坐在我旁邊，悲傷地搖著頭，說：“我真希望他們能有人贏我們，他們很有潛力，但輸得這么慘可能會使他們失去信心。”
邁克之所以會有這樣的想法，是因為他喜歡小孩——所有的小孩他都喜歡——他了解他們，他曾經擔任過一些小團隊的教練，如：足球隊、壘球隊和長曲棍球隊。一天下午，我去附近的一家體育用品店買了一套摔跤護頭和鞋子，并匿名把東西送給市里的教堂。
圣誕節前夕，我把信封放在了圣誕樹上，信的內容是告訴邁克我所做的事，就是我送給他的禮物。那年和接下來幾年的圣誕節，他的笑容是最燦爛的事了。
每年圣誕節，我都遵循這樣一個傳統——有一年是讓一些殘障少年參加曲棍球比賽，還有一年是看望了兩位老年兄弟，他們的房屋在圣誕節前被大火燒為平地，等等。
信封成為我們過圣誕節時最重要的事。圣誕節那天早上，信封總是最后一個被拆開 。孩子們也不顧他們的新玩具了，眼睛睜得大大的，站著那里等期待著爸爸把信封從圣誕樹上摘下來，把里面的內容讀給他們聽。
孩子們長大后，他們都要有用的禮物而不再要玩具了，不過，信封的吸引力依然沒變。故事并沒有在此結束，去年邁克患上可怕的癌癥離開我們了。圣誕節來臨的時候，我們還沉浸在悲傷中，甚至都沒有裝飾圣誕樹。在圣誕前夕，我在樹上放了一封信，到了早上，信卻變成了三封。
我們的每個孩子，都趁大家不注意的時候，在圣誕樹上放了一封寫給爸爸的信。這個慣例一直延續著，有一天我們的孫子也會站在圣誕樹旁，眼睛睜得大大的，望著他們的爸爸取下信封。邁克的靈魂，就像圣誕節的精神一樣，永遠在我們身邊。
愿我們都能牢記過這個節日的原因，永遠記住真正的圣誕節精神。愿上帝保佑我們——把這篇文章也送給你的朋友和所愛的人。
節日快樂!
12月是我最喜歡的月份，因為它是快樂的月份，是給予和感恩的月份。這是我的朋友德布拉今晚發給我的郵件，想和大家一起分享。我確實認為它在很多方面都打動了我們，信上說你給予或者接受給予再多也不過分，或許它就是你的“白色信封”。
