A Treasured Christmas Memory
For the entire duration of my teaching career, I rallied my students every December to create hampers of food and gifts for needy families in the city. We would apply for families through the Christmas Cheer Board; then I would decorate the classroom to inspire the donations, and fill the chalkboards with a sign-up for particular items. I was relentless, insisting that even the poorest student could afford to give a box of jelly powder. Cash contributions would subsidize the hampers, purchase turkeys and buy toys. As the years went by, I added three or four needy senior citizens for whom to provide - and we all got a big kick out of adding to the modest food collection with a basket of special goodies: tea, candles, Christmas potholders, a festive lapel pin, biscuits, that sort of thing. There was an elderly lady, Sophie, and another particular family, whom we sponsored for many consecutive years, and with whom the students developed particularly close bonds.
All of this, to me, became what Christmas was truly about. I had Jewish, Muslim and Buddhist students who all contributed eagerly, understanding that it wasn't the Christian religion that I was promoting, but the multidenominational act of charity. In fact, I emphasized that the Jewish religion is the only one I know of that actually specifies seven levels of charity, the highest being that given anonymously and without recognition.
One year, when I was teaching junior high, homerooms were permitted to have classroom parties on the last day of school before Christmas holidays. My kids had outdone themselves in building hampers and I wanted to really reward them. Besides, there was an unfortunate rift in my family at the time that promised to make my Christmas a lonely and sad one, so I was determined to have a Christmas, no matter what. I collected $2.00 from each student who could afford it, to defray the cost of cold cuts, rye bread, cheese, pickles and potato chips. I brought soft drinks and twenty-five paper plates filled with my home baking. I shlepped a big boom box and invited the kids to bring their favourite music.
The kids ate until they almost exploded, then pushed all the desks to the walls and danced their lil feet off. Everyone else except the custodians had long left the building, but my kids and I were havin such a good time, we didn't want the party to end. Finally, the custodians, after havin a pretty good feed themselves, told us it was time to shut down, and there were many hugs and greetings and reluctant goodbyes.
One boy lingered. I gratefully accepted his offer to take down decorations and help me carry boxes and coolers down to my car. He was a sad case: a really good-lookin, soft-hearted boy who had suffered many years of neglect and abuse by his drug-addicted and alcoholic single mother. He was, in fact, living independently
at age fourteen in a converted fire hall apartment with the aid of Child and Family Services. There just wasn't any other family capable of or willing to take him in.
He had so little. I packed up all the leftover food for him, boxed up a little tree I'd had on my desk and decorations, and drove him home. He broke my heart with his gratitude. He clung to me, kissed my hands, and said that I had just given him Christmas and he would never forget it. What he didn't understand is that he had given me Christmas, too.
It's twenty years later and I haven't forgotten, either. That boy taught me more about the true meaning of Christmas than any religious teaching could.
And that's sayin a LOT.
