Continuously serving Kosciusko County since 1854
It's unfathomable to me that's it's almost Christmas.
It seems the older I get, the quicker the years go by. I know that's an old clich, but it really is true.
And this time of the year, it seems even more relevant. In the middle of August, you don't tend to think about another year passing.
But here it is, almost the end of 2003. In 2004, I'll be officially pushing 50. Well, that's my view, anyway. I'll be 46. See, once you're past 45, you're pushing 50 in my book.
The really difficult thing for me to grasp is the age of my children. They really aren't children anymore. One's in college and the other one is driving herself to and from school.
The age of these "kids" also makes the Christmas gift thing a bit more difficult.
It's really easy to impress a 4-year-old. But 19? What in the world can you get a 19-year-old that will really turn his or her head and doesn't require a second mortgage?
I don't want you to get the wrong impression. It's not that my kids are ungrateful. They're really great kids. But they are, after all, teenagers.
I still like Christmas a bunch, but I think I used to look forward to it a little more when the kids were little.
But that's OK. Maybe someday there will be grandkids to spoil.
But really, it's great fun to have everybody home. And it's fun to go to the in-laws' and my mom's house and do the gift exchange thing.
And we have this tradition in our neighborhood of all getting together at somebody's house each year. (We rotate whose house it is.)
I like Christmas music and the Christmas food.
And, of course, midnight mass is a pretty cool part of Christmas for us.
My wife, Mary, tries her hardest to make Christmas right for everyone around her. I truly admire her enterprise in this regard.
She even leaves a little something for the mail carrier and the trash guys. Is that done?
Amidst all the hustle and bustle, I think it's important to remember why we celebrate.
After all, this is a birthday we're acknowledging. And frankly, that birth had a more profound impact on humankind than any other in history.
So with that in mind, here is a little Christmas story, gleaned from the vastness of the Internet. I hope it in some small way helps remind readers of the reason we celebrate Christmas.
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 - 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. 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 an 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 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.
Merry Christmas everybody. And have a prosperous, safe and happy New Year.
