Thoughts on Christmas Day: December 25, 2017

I’m sure Christmas Day leaves mixed memories within some who are my age. They may not recall each one with the joy most of us attach to this "most wonderful time of the year.”

Their thoughts may drift back to the unhappy or uncomfortable. Who can truly know another's heart? How much to we know about what others have lived through in life?

It would begin days before the holidays, these specious events. Back in my time, we exchanged gifts in class. I’m not sure they do that anymore. We did, though. Our target price was 50 cents per gift. We had two “Five and Dimes” in my hometown, Kresses and Newberrys. Four-bits could buy a nice present at either.

This was a time in which many white men with families worked for less than 30 dollars per week where I grew up. Women worked for half that. African-Americans worked for whatever they could get.

Fifty cents could purchase a loaf of bread, a quart of milk, and enough bologna for several days. For a treat, you could buy a soft drink for a nickel. How some families scraped together the half-dollar for a present at their kid’s school remains a mystery. Many didn’t. A friend had her name drawn one year by the poorest girl in class, resulting in a gift consisting of a five-cent card of “Bobby Pins.”

Yes, this was in the days before individual cell phones. It was a time in which musically talented kids of limited means would “practice” the piano at home with a six-inch wide roll of paper with a piano keyboard printed on it and which could be taped to the kitchen table. It was a time when poor kids would carefully fold the wax paper and grocery sack that had held their lunch—for reuse, unless a bully tore them up.

Back to Christmas: Perhaps a more forgetful ordeal for some was the annual post-holiday ritual of reciting what you received for Christmas. Mine was an unusual grade school. Of course, it was all-white. Additionally, it served the richest kids in town alongside the poorest from out in the county. What could possibly create discomfort about Christmas?

It was like this. The recitation of gifts received always met the same pattern.

The richest level spoke of hunting rifles, pianos, and such.

The next, bicycles and swing-sets.

Next: everyday clothes, practical but embarrassing.

Near the bottom: candy and nuts, which the whole family shared.

At the bottom: “Daddy is looking for a job, so we put Christmas off.”

Then there was the young girl who fled the class in tears once, rather than reveal her family’s shame.

I don’t mention all this in order to “bring us down” on Christmas Day. Quite the contrary, I’m motivated by the many posts on social media of acts of kindness and charity these days toward those who struggle and mourn. We should be proud of the numbers of Americans who share the good fortune so graciously with others. Although some politicians boast of governing with Ayn Rand's "philosophy of selfishness," charity clings below our national psyche like roots in a storm.

Goodness and mercy are traits that are sown into the soil of America, right alongside the seeds of our shortcomings. We can till and reap which harvest we choose to nurture. Despite how it appears these days, I’m optimistic that we will choose that which is most nutritious for the “better angels of our nature.”

And with that, peace and good will.

Blessed are those who show mercy.