From the Archives: The Christmas I Learned About Giving
Sometimes the best present is the one you give away
I hope you and yours are enjoying this holiday season. Despite all the turmoil in the world, our family had a pleasant Christmas. As usual, we shared gifts, watched movies, and ate way too much food.
In the spirit of the season, I’m resharing an edited version of a piece I wrote on this day last year. I hope you enjoy it. ~MSW
Before moving to Pine Bluff, Arkansas, our family rented a house in a modest section of Little Rock. I’m fairly certain my family lived close to the poverty line in those days, but somehow our parents kept us from feeling poor.
My three brothers and I always had the things we needed and most of what we wanted. At Christmas time, the toys came in abundance, with the four of us receiving much more than we dared to expect. One Christmas from those childhood days is burned into my memory.
That Christmas was a morning of Hot Wheels racetracks and G.I. Joe soldiers. After we played with our toys for a while, our father asked us to pick out our favorite toy from the day’s haul. To our dismay, he informed us that we had to give the toy we’d chosen to a needy child.
As you can imagine, my father’s plan didn’t go over well. I remember the anger I felt, the sense of betrayal. Why didn’t I pick a different toy, one I didn’t mind giving away?
Later that morning, the family piled into our Oldsmobile. After driving outside of town, we finally stopped at a small home on the side of the highway. The shotgun-style shanty made our house seem almost palatial.
As my father eased into the gravel driveway, a Black man emerged from behind the door of the house and stood on the porch. He wore a cap and bibbed overalls and was joined by a woman, who I assume was his wife.
As we exited our car, gifts in hand, a pair of children eyed us with curiosity from inside the screened front door. My parents explained the reason for our visit. After a few minutes of conversation, my parents handed over the presents and exchanged handshakes and hugs. and returned our car.
The family waved goodbye as we backed out of their gravel driveway and onto the highway. It was obvious that we’d made their Christmas Day.
My parents were excellent cooks, but as with most holidays, they disagreed about the menu that Christmas. Would the main course be turkey, ham, or prime rib? In the end, they decided to prepare all three entrees.
Around dinner time, my mother noticed one of our friends standing across the street, peering into our dining room. Without hesitation, she invited him in. That year he had Christmas at our table, no questions asked.
The name of that man in the overalls and his family has faded from memory, along with the location of the home we visited that Christmas morning. Shortly after that holiday, we left Little Rock behind for a new life in Pine Bluff.
When I think of that Christmas Day, the memory fills me with sentimental warmth and the knowledge that the best gifts are the ones you decide to give away.
