The best Christmas tradition ever, began on an island where no one was allowed to bring or give gifts. From the parents, Tony and me, the gift was already apparent: time with family in a lovely place with lovely tropical weather. Suitcase space and airline weight regulations didn't allow for Christmas indulgences, yet as the splendid day neared, our minds turned toward the celebration of the Savior's birth and the tradition of giving.
One daughter and her husband snuck off with makeshift cutters to find a Christmas tree. They returned with only a branch, but when they put on contraband lights, the festive feeling came alive. I started to think about gifts and stockings hung from the chimney mantel. Everyone had socks, but we had no fireplace, so we taped each person's athletic sock to the coffee table in the family room.
The idea came; I had hope it would work. We could still give gifts, they just wouldn't be tangible, wouldn't take up any space in luggage. The gifts would only find a place in our hearts.
Each person would give and receive two gifts. The first spoken, or imaginary gift, would have no money limit. In essence, we were all billionaires, free to give fleets of airplanes or islands, or credit cards with no limits. The second gift could have no monetary value, or it had to be something that couldn't be bought with money.
It is one of my favorite Christmas memories. All the gifts were heartfelt, tailored toward the receiver, and sincere. One son in law gave the other a cure for his diabetes. I received a library with every book ever written.
It was special enough that when I had extra time after a December final, I hastily put it together for one of my classes. It had a beautiful effect upon a special group of seniors.
This year, I didn't hastily add it to the end of a final. I deliberately planned for it, and my anticipation and expectations were humble, and full of hope. This was the right group.
After a random drawing of names, some paused, some knew right away. They gave one another college educations, professional sports teams, gold bars for no money worries. They gave banks and diamond studded kitchens to bake in, farms with every animal imaginable. A promise to pay for a sister's cancer treatments. It was a fantastical journey to be among such wealth, possibility, laughter, and surprise. They'd outdone my expectations and their own imaginations.
Then came the gifts of the heart, the gifts that no amount of money could be purchased. They gave courage and confidence. They looked into one another's eyes and wished upon the receiver, "I wish you could see yourself as I see you. I wish you could see how much you are admired by your peers."
They bestowed true love, all knowledge in the world, they gave simple promises like I will always be here to listen to you. One student gave her friend more time with a sister who had passed away.
I sat at the edge of the circle with tears in my eyes, and...
Grateful, grateful, grateful, that I taught the Humanities, and that teaching the humanities requires more opportunities, more discussions, more experiences that teach my students to become more human, more kind, more loving.
One daughter and her husband snuck off with makeshift cutters to find a Christmas tree. They returned with only a branch, but when they put on contraband lights, the festive feeling came alive. I started to think about gifts and stockings hung from the chimney mantel. Everyone had socks, but we had no fireplace, so we taped each person's athletic sock to the coffee table in the family room.
The idea came; I had hope it would work. We could still give gifts, they just wouldn't be tangible, wouldn't take up any space in luggage. The gifts would only find a place in our hearts.
Each person would give and receive two gifts. The first spoken, or imaginary gift, would have no money limit. In essence, we were all billionaires, free to give fleets of airplanes or islands, or credit cards with no limits. The second gift could have no monetary value, or it had to be something that couldn't be bought with money.
It is one of my favorite Christmas memories. All the gifts were heartfelt, tailored toward the receiver, and sincere. One son in law gave the other a cure for his diabetes. I received a library with every book ever written.
It was special enough that when I had extra time after a December final, I hastily put it together for one of my classes. It had a beautiful effect upon a special group of seniors.
This year, I didn't hastily add it to the end of a final. I deliberately planned for it, and my anticipation and expectations were humble, and full of hope. This was the right group.
After a random drawing of names, some paused, some knew right away. They gave one another college educations, professional sports teams, gold bars for no money worries. They gave banks and diamond studded kitchens to bake in, farms with every animal imaginable. A promise to pay for a sister's cancer treatments. It was a fantastical journey to be among such wealth, possibility, laughter, and surprise. They'd outdone my expectations and their own imaginations.
Then came the gifts of the heart, the gifts that no amount of money could be purchased. They gave courage and confidence. They looked into one another's eyes and wished upon the receiver, "I wish you could see yourself as I see you. I wish you could see how much you are admired by your peers."
They bestowed true love, all knowledge in the world, they gave simple promises like I will always be here to listen to you. One student gave her friend more time with a sister who had passed away.
I sat at the edge of the circle with tears in my eyes, and...
Grateful, grateful, grateful, that I taught the Humanities, and that teaching the humanities requires more opportunities, more discussions, more experiences that teach my students to become more human, more kind, more loving.
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