MERRY CHRISTMAS, "HAPPY BIRTHDAY JESUS"

It's simply a small, white envelope stuck among the branches of our Christmas tree. No name, no identification, no inscription. It has peeked through the branches of our tree for the preceding 10 years or so.It all began because my husband Mike hated Christmas-oh, not the straight substance of Christmas, but the commercial aspects of it-overspending.the frantic running around at the final moment to get a tie for Uncle Harry and the dusting powder for Grandma-the gifts given in despair because you couldn't conceive of anything else.

Knowing he felt this way, I decided one class to bypass the usual shirts, sweaters, ties and so forth. I reached for something special only for Mike. The inspiration came in an unusual way. Our son Kevin, who was 12 that year, was wrestling at the junior level at the school he attended; and shortly before Christmas, there was a non-league match against a team sponsored by an inner-city church. These youngsters, dressed in sneakers so ragged that shoestrings seemed to be the sole thing holding them together, presented a sharp contrast to our boys in their spiffy blue and gold uniforms and sparkling new wrestling shoes. As the couple began, I was alarmed to see that the former team was wrestling without headgear, a variety of light helmet designed to protect a wrestler's ears. It was a luxury the ragtag team obviously could not afford. Well, we ended up walloping them. We took every weight class. And as apiece of their boys got up from the mat, he swaggered around in his tatters with false bravado, a sort of street pride that couldn't acknowledge defeat. Mike, seated beside me, shook his head sadly, "I want but one of them could have won," he said. "They receive a lot of potential, but losing like this could read the spirit right out of them."Mike loved kids - all kids-and he knew them, having coached little league football, baseball and lacrosse. That's when the theme for his gift came. That afternoon, I went to a local sporting goods store and bought an variety of wrestling headgear and place and sent them anonymously to the inner-city church. On Christmas Eve, I set the envelope on the tree, the line inside telling Mike what I had done and that this was his present from me. His smile was the brightest thing about Christmas that class and in future years. For each Christmas, I followed the tradition-one year sending a grouping of mentally handicapped youngsters to a hockey game, another class a condition to a couple of elderly brothers whose family had burnt to the land the week before Christmas, and on and on.The envelope became the spotlight of our Christmas. It was ever the final thing opened on Christmas morning and our children, ignoring their new toys, would support with wide-eyed anticipation as their dad lifted the envelope from the corner to discover its contents. As the children grew, the toys gave way to more practical presents, but the envelope never lost its allure. The chronicle doesn't end there. You see, we lost Mike last year due to dreaded cancer. When Christmas rolled around, I was yet so engrossed in sorrow that I just got the tree up. But Christmas Eve found me placing an envelope on the tree, and in the morning, it was linked by three more. Each of our children, unbeknown to the others, had set an envelope on the corner for their dad.The custom has grown and someday will expand even further with our grandchildren standing round the corner with wide-eyed anticipation watching as their fathers take down the envelope. Mike's spirit, like the Christmas spirit, will ever be with us.~Author Unknown~