Beatiful story that I wanted to share

Christmas Story – courtesy of Mike and Scarlet (and also Dave Z)

SIMPLE 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 -- the 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.

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 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 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 those friends and loved ones who
are the givers and understand the true meaning of
Merry Christmas.