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Remembering a “Wish-mas” from many years ago

By ROGER SMALL
Joy to the world / Joy to the fishes in the deep blue sea / Joy to you and me

— song lyrics by Three Dog Night

How many times have people said “I wish I’d …” when it was too late? Maybe it was doing something with one’s child but never finding time — and eventually it was too late because that child became an adult too soon. Maybe it was a husband waiting for the right moment to tell his wife he loved her — and eventually it was too late because she found another man. Maybe it was a recent college graduate who wanted to tell a grade school teacher how important she had been in his academic success and kept putting off his intention — and then one day he read her obituary in the newspaper. Maybe it was a boss who was too consumed with advancing his own career to stop to visit and thank the employees who were responsible for his good record — and then watch as amny of them quit to work someplace else. Maybe it was ordering flowers from a florist to send to a funeral home where a friend was in a casket — then wondering why flowers hadn’t been sent when the recent deceased could have still smelled them.

It was with these thoughts and sugar plums dancing in my head that I decided to express my feeling about Christmas on Dec. 25, 2000 with my family of friends.

What prompted this was a window display in a vacant storefront in downtown Newport. Sixth and seventh graders had been asked to write their “wish” for Christmas on a small circular piece of construction paper.

It was a cold morning when I began reading the collection that was pasted on the window. 

“I wish my mother could get a new job because her boss is always mean to her,” one said. The youngster had signed his name.

“One of my wishes is if you are homeless, to have a home to say in at Christmas,” another one stated.

“I wish that all less fortunate people have as much as I do,” caused tears to roll down my cheeks. I was alone and no one could see I was bawling. As I walked away I was muttering to myself how wonderful it was that 11- and 12-year-olds could express themselves so tenderly in a society where adults of all ages either can’t or won’t tell their most intimate friends what is going on in their experienced, well-educated minds.

Does the process of aging cause people to lose their sense of caring? Is saying something emotional considered childish?

In our American culture of materialism and ostentation we have managed to expel what Christmas is supposed to be all about. We have become a society that becomes easily riled up and upset when someone steps forward and preaches about religion. It is just the way we are now and nobody or nothing is going to change it back to being the date that Jesus Christ was born in a manger out in a cow barn.

It is about shopping for gifts and possessing the wisdom to purchase the perfect gift for the person who is “hard to buy for because he has everything …”

The next three mornings after I cried in front of that vacant store window with the “wishes” pasted on in the shape of Christmas tree, I continued to read. I wrote six of them down in a notebook I was carrying inside my warm coat.

“I wish that someone would help the poor,” said one. It made me think about what poor means to us Newporters. There are not many visibly poor residents. However we have some in poor health and/or in poor spirits.

On Thanksgiving day free meals are served and distributed to Newporters by the Country Kitchen Restaurant (with help from dozens of volunteers). The quality of the meals delivered to people who can not get out is better than most homemakers could produce. It makes everybody in town feel good inside to witness the activity the Country Kitchen creates. One has to surmise the kids who wrote their Christmas “wish” message got an appreciation fo what took place on Thanksgiving Day. They saw that giving isn’t just buying something in a store, wrapping it up and handing it to a special person.

“I wish that poor people would have a nice Christmas.” When one thinks about it, the Tiny Tims of the world celebrate Christmas just like rich people do. They are permitted to hope for whatever a “nice” Christmas can bring.

On Christmas morning numerous gifts are stacked under most Christmas trees. When I was 7 or 8 years old I remember coming downstairs with my brother, who is three years older than me. Under the tree was one gift unwrapped. It was a kid’s blackboard on an easel with “Merry Christmas from Santa” written on. I remember how excited we were. My parents weren’t poor. They both worked. Our society then was more about quality and less about quantity.

A few months ago I found the easel from that gift and took it with me to Sandy Campbell’s home, where I go every Christmas day. I wanted to avoid uttering “I wish I …” and never reveal to my friends (the entire Bruce Campbell family was in attendance) what a single, simple gift had meant to my brother and me. They had not opened their gifts yet when I arrived. There were enough gifts under their tree to fill up the back of a Japanese pickup truck.

After telling them about my long-ago Christmas morning I began reading the “wish” notes I had copied from the window. I could feel my voice start to crack when I read “for the homeless people, food, clothes, hats and homes.”

“And this last one,” I started, “was written by Jauntessa Campbell.” I looked up at the 20 or so people in the room, all about to tear the papers off their presents. We were all in different stages of crying. It was very emotional. I couldn’t continue. I handed the paper to Jauntessa’s aunt, Terry Beaulieu, “… read the last one please,” I blubbered.

“For the world I would give the homess a home, buy food for the starving, buy clothes and shoes for the people that don’t have any.”

It was a joyous few minutes most of us will never forget.” 

 

“All I want for Christmas is my two front teeth …”

— song lyric

 

Roger Small’s column was called “As I Recall” and this one was originally published in the Argus-Champion on Jan. 31, 2001.

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