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Click hereI hope he's OK. And, even if he never had another good day in his life, I hope he had a nice Christmas that year, or nice enough. I know I never forgot him, and I know I never forgot the way my parents welcomed him.
To this day, that was the most important Christmas gift I've ever seen.
[This story breaks the promise I made on my profile page, to write only fiction. Although many story elements changed during the writing, there really was a Greg (though not by that name), a Christmas eve, and an extra present. There really wasn't a Rachel. I lost track of Greg years ago, but the few things I've heard since were not happy. I've thought of him each of the almost-forty Christmases since, and wish him well. Maybe being welcome in our home for a day or two didn't change his life. I hope it made those few days a little better.
And I thank my parents again for letting him stay with us, as I do every time I think of Greg.]
Such a warm story. So well written. Their Christmas Eve dinner reminds me of a Chicago morning in the mid-1930's. A knock on the back door and a man told my mother he hadn't eaten in three days. Did she have some scraps of food she could spare? She spooned out a generous helping of the stew cooking on the stove for our supper that night, added two slices of bread, plus a fork, and handed it to the man.
A few minutes later he knocked again and I opened the door. He handed me the plate that looked like it had been washed, it was that clean. I handed it to my mother. With tears streaming down his cheeks, he said to her, "God bless you, madam."
And that was the day I learned the meaning of charity.
The warmth and sharing during the season is what people often forget. As we all lament, Christmas is sooo commercialized. When we are offered the opportunity to share the love of the season it is always somehow memorable. A "ReasonSeasonLifetime" event (type that into a web browser); you will find the prose wonderful. It is not mine but D. Chaulker's. Happy holiday humminbean! (BTW, cute nic!) : )