Christmas Magic ‘A Special Memory’
The year was 1966 as my car slowly meandered the steep hills toward Marycliff High School. I mentally calculated the days left until Christmas vacation: three more days of running around a snow-draped campus in subzero temperatures; a staggering amount of preholiday homework to do; and not much baby-sitting money saved up to buy gifts.
But most of all, there was the growing dread of a very empty Christmas without my grandmother. Since she died, gray clouds had settled over my family’s holiday preparations.
Slamming locker and classroom doors finally settled into the silence preceding morning prayer and announcements over the loudspeaker. My homeroom teacher then outlined on the chalkboard a list of Christmas items - good, used clothing and toys, decorations and food to fill a Christmas basket.
Our teacher had overheard the school secretary telling the principal that she would have a difficult time providing gifts for her two small children this year. Her husband had been killed in the Vietnam War, and her scant salary just wouldn’t stretch that far.
Our teacher then asked if our class might provide these items as a special Christmas project and that we not mention it to anyone at school since it would undoubtedly embarrass the secretary.
That night, my mom and I gathered, ironed and wrapped several packages of clothes for the two little girls since I had two younger sisters close to their ages.
We also wrapped toys and found enough grocery items to fill a large brown bag. It seemed a small way to restore some of the emptiness we shared over our own recent loss.
The next morning I found myself driving through thick mists of fog and snow. When I arrived, the classroom already held a large array of bright packages, ornaments, many bags of food and even a small Christmas tree. My teacher was more than a little overwhelmed by her students’ generosity and said that she would deliver the items as soon as she could.
All morning the snowfall continued as anxious students new to winter driving gathered at windows and glass doorways between classes. Just after lunch, it was announced over the loudspeaker that school would be dismissed early.
Sister suggested this may be an excellent time to deliver our gifts and asked if anyone was interested in helping. Everyone was unanimous in the decision to share rides to the secretary’s house.
Her home sat on the back of a very large lot, not too far from school, surrounded by huge, snow-laced maple and pine trees. Sister magically presented the house key hidden in the large folds of her black habit. She laughingly told us she stole it with an accompanying prayer for forgiveness.
Soon giggles filled the cold but spotlessly clean house. The only heat the family had was from a small electric heater and the kitchen oven. We set up the tree and decorated it, stacked the many presents under it, lined the kitchen counters from end-to-end with overflowing grocery sacks and filled the refrigerator.
As Sister placed an envelope containing $20 cash inside the tree branches, we plugged in the tree lights.
Everyone stood back as the gray, cold room suddenly glowed with vibrant blue, red and yellow light. We clasped hands around the tree as Sister led us in a prayer. We thanked God for giving us this special gift of giving anonymously.
As we sang “Angels We Have Heard on High,” I felt the angelic presence of the ever-giving spirit of my grandmother join us.
The gray clouds surrounding my Christmas dissipated at that moment and gave birth to a most special memory.
The following fields overflowed: CREDIT = Vicki (Vander Gaag) Hawkins/Kennewick