The Christmas Family….A Tradition Continued

I was in Kindergarten when I met him.  This little boy whose eyes smiled long before his mouth did, but as soon as the feeling caught up with his lips it was the kind of smile that made you smile back.  He had the most infectious giggle and we were soon fast friends.  Sam was my first black friend.  Sam was the first person to teach me that the color of skin meant nothing to matters of the heart.  He was my favorite person in Kindergarten, the person I looked forward to seeing every morning, playing with all day long and hugging goodbye at the end of the day. 

When you are 6 years old and you love a person just for who they are and you have not been taught differently by the world yet, you don’t really even see all the differences.  I was a girl, Sam a boy.  I was white, Sam was not.  I was blessed to be raised in a home with more than I needed, Sam’s family by most measures was considered poor.  He and I didn’t notice any of that.  Luckily, my mother did not either, except at Christmas. 

My mother was fortunate to be a “stay at home” mom, which I now know meant she was never “home”.  She was the ultimate multi-tasker serving as room mom to my class, taxi driver to Brownies, softball practice and dance lessons, wife, cook (I use that word loosely…sorry Mom), maid and so much more.  She was devoted to her family and she LOVED Christmas.  She made Christmas an incredible spectacle and a magical experience in our home.  It was good to be me at Christmas time.  I was blessed beyond measure.  But the best part about my mother is her giving heart.  And Christmas in 1975 was about to take on a completely different meaning for our family.  Because of my love for Sam, my mother’s heart had “made up its mind” to bring that magic and spectacle of Christmas to Sam’s family as well.

One day before Christmas, Momma picked me and Sam up from school and took us shopping.  She had Sam pick out presents for his Mom and Dad and had him show her things in the store that he would like to have.  That day, she brought Sam home and taught him how to wrap the Christmas presents for his parents.  I still remember his face when he got out of the car and showed his mom that he had real gifts, with wrapping paper and bows, to put out for her and his dad.  He was beaming.  I remember feeling so happy for him until I went into his house and realized that he didn’t have a Christmas tree to put them under.

I was very quiet on the drive home (which for most people who know me, is unusual) and my mother asked me what I was thinking about.  I told her that my favorite part of Christmas in our house was our beautiful Christmas tree and how I loved sitting in the dark with only its twinkling lights on.  I was sad that Sam didn’t have a beautiful tree too.  And that was when my mother shared the secret of Christmas with me.  That was the day I learned that Christmas was not about me.  It was not about toys, it was not about things on a wish list and as much as I loved Santa Claus and other traditions, it was not about those either.  Christmas was about love and Christmas was about sacrifice and Christmas was about putting others before yourself.  But she didn’t just tell me the secret, she let me be involved and learn for myself what it meant to be the action behind the story.

That year, our family went to Sam’s house and showered them with love at Christmas time.  We brought them a Christmas tree and all the decorations.  We brought them Christmas dinner with all the trimmings and a few extra groceries to put in the pantry.  And we also brought gifts, for each of them, all wrapped up.  I remember the same sweet smile that graced Sam’s face that was now on his momma’s face, but with tears streaming down her cheeks.  I remember my dad putting up the Christmas tree and all of us decorating it together.  I remember the sheer joy radiating from Sam.  But mostly I remember the warm feeling that engulfed my body as I watched Sam hug my momma’s neck ever so tightly saying “Thank you Mrs. Tanner, thank you Mrs. Tanner, you must be my Christmas angel”.

By the time I graduated from high school the tradition of “The Christmas Family” had spread through our community.  The weeks before Christmas, you could hardly walk through our beautifully decorated house because everyone we knew, and even perfect strangers, were dropping off items at our house.  Even stores were making unbelievable donations to my mother’s “cause”.  My senior year, my mother provided Christmas for 26 families in need, with most of those families having more than 6 people living in their house.  Delivering Christmas became the most special day there was.  It was a day that changed me forever.  I will never be able to put into words or thank my mother enough for teaching me the greatest lesson I have ever learned.  I thank God for giving my mother a servant’s heart.  I thank God for giving me that same heart.  I thank God this year for carrying on the tradition and providing me with a Christmas family of my very own.  I hope God will help me instill the same true lesson of giving in my own children, that they too would be touched and forever changed by the incredible experience of putting someone else before themselves.

Merry Christmas Momma.  Merry Christmas Sam.  Merry Christmas to my new Christmas family.