Whether it’s white-bearded dudes with unusually large belts or wood carved nativity scenes or something somewhere in between, the Christmas season means many things to many people. For some, I can imagine, it is a time of profound sadness as the cold winds that blows, Salvation Army bells that ring, and hot cider aroma that fills the air dredges up painful memories of a happier time gone for good. Or maybe the end of the calendar year brings tears of joy for religious reasons. It is also very possible that some simply relish the annual excuse to bring to the top of the pile their collection of outlandish Christmas sweaters. I think we all know at least one of these very colorful folks.
For me, Christmastime means bringing smiles to peoples faces. Granted, I also love to do this every day of the year but the from-concentrate version of wealth-sharing and good-tiding the Christmas season affords is especially delicious. Yeah, picking out the oh-so-perfect gift(s) for my own children then watching their tiny faces out-glow the Christmas tree is an experience without equal, and I do also fancy myself a stellar gift giver for my nieces and nephews, but it’s the faceless and sometimes nameless children we are able to bring a modicum amount of joy to; that is what Christmas is.
Each year, my family and OWTK LLC, my business (as it were), sponsors a couple of children between the ages of infant and 13 or so through the United Way and the Mrs’ employer. We assume the role of gift buying parent and, partially I am guessing, of Santa Claus for some Philadelphia-area youngsters who are in situations not as cushy as ours. Maybe these are children in hospitals, orphanages, or simply in homes without the expendable income to provide what is necessary for a frigid winter (jacket/hat/gloves) or what is most desired (bike/action figures/books). In any case, we happily step in with the hope of making a tiny bit of magic happen in their lives. Can we do more throughout the year to lend a hand? Of course, and at times I do beat myself up for not going above and beyond from Jan-Nov, but at the very least we go shopping for new sneakers, sweatpants, snowsuits, and of course toys and games for kids we will never know, knowing this helps make the world a tiny bit better.
This year, we got assigned to us an 11-year-old girl with a special wish of a bike, and a 2-year-old boy into cars & trucks.
For the first time ever, the Bear collected the last $7 from her own piggy bank to buy something for the toddler; a VTech alphabet/counting toy that was 50% off. The cashier was told what we were doing because we were those people splitting our order into three parts as it rolled down the conveyer belt (the Mrs. was also doing some shopping for the child her team at work was sponsoring). The Bear, as she does most every day, impressed me. She shrunk from the praise bestowed upon her by the cashier because like any good philanthropist, she doesn’t seek attention or glory. Now if she would just stop playing with the electronic toy before we wrap it! Ugh. I’ve had the “imagine how much it’ll suck when he unwraps a toy with already-dead batteries on Christmas morning!” conversation too often over the past week.
Later on – interested equally in being charitable, copying her sister, and getting to carry money around with her – the Mouse wrestled $2.75 from her log cabin shaped coin bank to buy the last thing we needed the 2-year-old: a hat and gloves. We found a snazzy set for $2.50, after 40% off, at Kmart. The substantial sale allowed her to buy it 100% on her own, with a quarter to spare which she dropped into the Salvation Army kettle out in front of the store.
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As a child, I watched my dad stubbornly refuse to open gifts on Christmas morning because he much preferred to give; to enjoy the reactions of my brothers, mother, and I as we opened the gifts he had thoughtfully selected for us. I learned very early on that there is more joy to be had as the gift buyer and giver than in the role of recipient. I can only hope that I’m instilling in my own children that same passion for thoughtfulness and giving, only doing so without my dad’s curmudgeonly approach.
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