It's just a small, white envelope stuck among the branches of out
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, was very uncomfortable with the holiday
season.  No, not the true meaning of the holidays, but the commercial
aspects of it - overspending, the frantic running around at the last
minute to get a tie for our Uncle 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 my husband.

The inspiration came in an unusual way.  Our twelve year-old son, was on
his school's wrestling team.  During the holiday season, there was a
non-league match against an inner-city team, sponsored by a church.
These youngsters, dressed in sneakers so ragged that shoestrings seemed
to be the only thing holding them together, presented a dramatic 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.
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.  My husband, seated beside me, shook his head sadly.
"I wish just one of them could have won."  "They have allot of potential,
but losing like this could take the heart right out of them."

My husband loved kids - all kids.  He knew them well, having coached
little league baseball, football, 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.  As our holiday celebration
approached, I placed the envelope in the tree, the note inside telling my
husband what I had done and that this was his gift from me.  His smile
was the brightest thing about that holiday season and for the years to
come.

Each year, I followed the tradition - one year sending a group of
mentally handicapped youngsters to a hokey game, another year a check to
a pair of elderly brothers whose home had burned to the ground during the
holidays, ect.  The envelope became the highlight of our family
celebration.  It was always the last thing opened up 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.  The children grew.  Toys gave way to more practical presents,
but envelope never lost its allure.

The story doesn't end there.  You see, last year we lost my husband to
cancer.  When the holidays unfolded, I was still so stricken with grief
that I barely got the tree up.  But the night before our family gathering
found me placing another envelope on the tree.

The next morning, I discovered three more.

Each of our children, unbeknownst to the other, 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 the
same wide eyes as they watch their fathers or mothers take down the
envelope.

My husbands spirit - the real holiday spirit sometimes seems so elusive -
will always be with us.  May we all remember that holiday spirit this
year and every day of our lives.

Author Unknown.



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