Chicken Soup for the Soul Christmas (22 page)

Reprinted by permission of Off the Mark and Mark Parisi. © 2007 Mark Parisi.

7
INSIGHTS
AND LESSONS

M
ake it a practice to judge persons
   
and things in the most favorable
   
light at all times and under all
   
circumstances.

Saint Vincent de Paul

The Best Noël

At my company's holiday luncheon last year, our guest speaker, a pediatric neurosurgeon, presented a customer's perspective on the medical products our facility manufactures—implants for a neurological condition called hydrocephalus that affects mostly the very young and the elderly. All the employees, from line manufacturing personnel to top management, were able to see the impact on the world of the products they build by hand.

The 230 employees attending the luncheon had finished eating when Dr.Mike gave his presentation about the condition, its origin, prognosis, and treatment. He explained that the scientific community has a long way to go to understand and conquer this chronic, lifelong condition. It was very powerful in a way that made you wish you had paid more attention during Geometry and Trig, and that if you had youmight have contributed an important piece to solve this enigmatic puzzle.

Throughout this festive holiday luncheon, the emcee would pull and call raffle-ticket numbers, and the winners would leap up to get their pick of some wrapped gifts on the front table. At these luncheons, winning is a big deal because the organizers don't skimp. A $100 gift card to Best Buy is not uncommon, and there are no rubber chickens.

Dr. Mike finished his talk by introducing a patient of his, a beautiful nine-year-old girl named Noël with long brown hair, deep brown eyes, and a smile that melted your heart. She had a way about her unlike a child of nine—or nineteen, for that matter—a wisdom of sorts that perhaps came from surviving a multitude of cranial surgeries, nights hooked up in hospitals, and mustering up positive energy for her parents when theirs finally ran out.

Noël's mother stood up with her and imparted some very poignant words to the audience about their experience and their gratitude for the work put into designing and building this medical device that was working so well in her child. It had been implanted at a time when hope seemed scarce for her and her family. Her teary words of encouragement received a standing ovation.

Toward the end of the holiday program, Noël's raffle-ticket number got called. She lit up like any child would, staring at a table full of gifts wrapped with colorful paper and bows, and walked up to the front of the room by herself to select hers. Noël's selection was unknown to everyone, even her. She turned, facing the cheering people, and paused for a moment, looking at her wrapped prize, then lovingly at Dr. Mike. I remember thinking to myself,
She's
unbelievably poised for a child her age
. Noël then raised her gift, took seven steps toward the surgeon who had skillfully changed her life when others before could not, and said, “I want you to have this gift, Dr. Mike.” The cheering ceased, marked by the vacuous sound of air being rapidly inhaled by the audience, and then total silence at the realization of what was occurring. Dr. Mike didn't understand and turned to me with a puzzled look, so I said, “I think she wants to give you her gift!”

What child anywhere would do that? Noël. This child. This angel. This tiny source of brilliant light knocked us all off our chairs with a gesture so uncommon and out of character for a child her age. She had the presence of mind to realize that she was holding something to offer the man who had given her back her life.

I've never witnessed a teammate hit a walk-off home run or catch a touchdown pass in overtime, but now I know what it feels like. Experiencing this moment was my best gift that year—maybe any year. Thank you, Noël.

Mark Geiger

Christmas Cookies

Stevie was barely five years old when he first came to visit, joining my youngest son and me for an afternoon of decorating Christmas cookies, which was a tradition in our home. We had done it ever since the oldest of our five children was small. Anticipating our afternoon, I arranged a Christmas tablecloth with bowls of icing, red and green sprinkles, and red and green colored sugars. I had baked cookies throughout the morning. Christmas carols were playing on the stereo. I wanted the boys to have a good time.

Stevie's eyes grew wide with excitement as he spied the table and its wares. I set trays of cookies in front of both boys.My son started spreading icing on the cooled cookies immediately. Stevie simply watched.

“Don't you like decorating Christmas cookies?” I asked him.

“I've never done it,” he said. “I don't know how.”

This was such a surprise to me, but then I knew that Stevie's mom was single and worked long hours. He was one of three small children, and there wasn't much money for extras in their home. His mom probably had just enough energy and money at the end of the day to put supper on the table and crawl into bed. Christmas cookies would be considered an extravagance.

I began slowly showing Stevie how to spread the white icing smoothly and evenly over each cookie. He laughed as we dusted sugar and sprinkles on the wet frosting. Soon Stevie had the hang of it and was busily decorating cookie after colorful cookie. Both boys had fun eating the
confections, too.

“This is fun!” Stevie exclaimed repeatedly.

Somehow, I think I was the one having the most fun, watching my son teach his friend how to enjoy a new facet to the Christmas season.

“Can I come over and do this again?” Stevie asked.

“We'll plan another play date soon,” I said.

There was as much icing and candy on Stevie as there was on the cookies and in the bowls! Perched atop a kitchen stool, his tongue deliberately wedged between his lips in strong concentration, Stevie decorated dozens of cookies. He didn't even notice when my son became bored and wandered off to watch a video.

“These are good,” Steve said, biting a cookie he'd just decorated. “They're sweet.”

When Stevie's mom came to pick him up, he was astonished that I was wrapping his decorated cookies and sending them home with him.

“To keep?” he asked.

“To eat!” I said.

Stevie left with his package of sweet Christmas cookies, and a face and shirt covered with evidence of how he'd spent the afternoon. His young mother was grateful for Stevie's fun afternoon and unique Christmas experience. I was left with a feeling of sheer joy at witnessing this little boy's first delight at decorating Christmas cookies, and knowing that we had, in a very small way, brightened Stevie's Christmas.

My children have always taken the cookie-decorating tradition for granted. They expect it every year, and as my son did this particular year, they typically grow bored after decorating just a few, and go off and find something else to do.

I was reminded this particular year just how richly our children are blessed, and how graced we are with the sweetness of cookies—and little boys. Traditions like baking Christmas cookies make for cherished memories.

I will hold our visit with Stevie among them.

Kimberly Ripley

The Truth About Christmas Decorations

Oh, sure, we all know that you can size up people pretty quickly by the way they dress, the kind of car they drive, and the company they keep. But, frankly, I think you never really know people until you see what kind of outdoor holiday decorations they display. Come December, people who don't so much as display a lawn ornament suddenly cover their entire yard with nativity scenes, pinwheel angels, and jumbo plastic candy. It's amazing, really.

Our neighbors, for example, are a nice, quiet, conservative couple who won't even leave their car parked on the driveway overnight. As of yesterday, they are the proud owners of five movable reindeer, a light-up tree, a sleigh, and a ten-foot inflatable snowman. Not that anything is wrong with this, mind you. I'm all for showing holiday spirit. But for as long as I've known them, there was nothing—
nothing
—about them that suggested something like this was coming.

But, really, I can see how this could happen. Christmas decorations, much like commercial jingles and, well, chicken pox, are contagious.

Consider our neighbors down the street. One year, they bought a lovely outdoor Christmas tree with lights for their front yard. A few days later, eight wooden reindeer pulling Santa's sleigh appeared in front of the house next door. Then, shortly after that, a six-foot, fiber optic Frosty the Snowman showed up a few houses down, followed by a group of electronically animated elves singing “Jingle Bells” in the yard of the house across the street.

Bells” in the yard of the house across
Coincidence? I don't think so.

However, one of the perks of holiday decorations is that you have an excuse to drive around and comment on other people's yards. But let me just warn you that sometimes this may only confuse and depress you. It's not because of the cold, but because, by a cruel twist of fate, some of the yards—the very same yards you've snubbed all year long—now look like something out of a Norman Rockwell painting, while yours has only a shoddy display of a tree made from a stack of aluminum cans!

Another thing about Christmas decorations, besides their obvious festive appeal, is that they tell us a great deal about the people who own them. I mean, you can tell who, exactly, is handy with a scroll saw, and who spends their weekends roaming around craft fairs. Or which family is deeply religious, and which is more of the gingerbread man type. In fact, there are a lot of houses in the neighborhood that we refer to by their Christmas decorations all year round. I mean, even in midsummer, the house around the corner is known as “the house with the blue icicle lights.” In the house across from the park resides “the family who has a thing for ice-skating penguins.”

And what about our house? Well, we put up our traditional Christmas display: lights-still-up-from-last-year. I'm not quite sure what this says about us, and, frankly, I don't want to know.

However, this year my husband has added three hand-craftedwooden reindeer.Of course, he claims it has nothing to do with our neighbor's elaborate display because “competing with friends over yard decorations is just plain silly.”

With that said, when we came home today we noted they'd added a dozen plastic candy canes and a couple of polar bears.

Coincidence? Well, maybe.

But I'm not too worried about it—except for the fact that my husband just headed outside to measure our lawn for a full-sized Santa's workshop.

I just hope that January gets here soon.

Debbie Farmer

Reprinted by permission of Off the Mark and Mark Parisi. © 2007 Mark Parisi.

Secret Santa

I often remember the Secret Santa my mother invited into our lives. She introduced him to our family a number of years ago on Thanksgiving Day.

When Mom was hosting Thanksgiving at her house, she informed us we were going to do something a bit different that year. We were each going to play a Secret Santa from Thanksgiving until Christmas. All of us drew a name from a dish passed around and were instructed not to reveal the name we had chosen. Each person, from the youngest in the family to the oldest, was told they were now a Secret Santa to the person whose name they had drawn. A token gift would be given on Christmas Eve to reveal each other's Secret Santa.

We needed some innovation to keep our identity a mystery while we sent cards and small little trinkets as nominal gifts until Christmas Eve when we would once again gather as a family at my mom's house. Nothing particular was required of us as Secret Santas except to be unusually kind and nice to the person whose name we had drawn.

We were not to reveal our identity, only to give suggestions on how to distribute kindness.

Then the fun began! Cards arrived from distance places, and some contained little trinkets or pieces of gum or a sucker.

I was lucky enough to receive a little glass trinket in one of my envelopes. My Secret Santa knew of my interest and collections! Though my gift was not expensive crystal, it was a token from my Santa that let me know he or she was
thinking especially of me.