Four Feet More

Jen's post about her family's Thanksgiving led me to think about similar holiday activities in my past, and one Christmas Eve stands out vividly in my memory.

Joe and I were about 10 years old at the time, and lived with our mom in Tucson, Arizona. We belonged to a multi-denominational church that participated in many charitable activities, especially around the holidays. Every December, the church would send out groups of carolers to visit poor, elderly members of the community, deliver a gift basket of food and goodies, and sing a few songs to brighten their holiday. Mom, Joe and I volunteered to join the carolers, and on the evening of the excursion, we bundled up in warm clothes and headed out to the church. Our group had a great time telling stories and laughing while we put together the gift baskets. We were happy at the prospect of giving something to people who were in need and hoped our caroling would bring smiles to some faces, despite the fact that almost every single one of us was tone-deaf.

Once the baskets were ready, we loaded up the van, and headed out to the first house on our list. We knocked on the door, sang songs and delivered the gift basket to an elderly woman who couldn’t hear very well, and so did not mind our “singing.” After a few houses, we began to get into our groove and were feeling pretty good about the way the evening was progressing. People seemed happy to see us, and many of them waved goodbye with words of “Thank you,” “Merry Christmas” and “God bless you!”

Then we came to the house that I will never forget. We knocked on the door, full of good cheer, animatedly discussing which song we would sing first. An elderly gentleman opened the door part way, and squinted out at us, clearly wondering who we were and why we were on his front porch. We handed over the gift basket and launched into our first song. The man stood there staring at us for a moment, and his eyes kind of misted over. Then he backed away and shut the door. We looked around at each other, not quite knowing what to do. One member of our group shrugged his shoulders and continued singing, communicating to the rest of us that we would finish the next song and then leave. As we were preparing to go, the old man opened up the door once again, with tears in his eyes. He quietly handed over a bag full of oranges that he had picked from his tree, and nodded to us, too overwhelmed to speak. Instead of rejecting our Christmas offering, he had actually hurried into his house, gathering together a gift to give to us before we left. We all stood there, a bit stunned at his generosity. Here was a man who had almost nothing, yet he still wanted to share what little he did have with us, a group of complete strangers. In response to his gift, our group enthusiastically sang another song for him. He leaned against his door jam, listening to us with a wistful smile on his face. He wished us a “Merry Christmas” when we finished our carol, and we thanked him before returning to the van. However, as we walked down the sidewalk, I turned back to glance at him once more. He was crying as he watched us go, looking so frail and alone on his doorstep. I waved goodbye, and he lifted his hand to offer a slight wave in return before backing into his house and shutting the door.

The image of him crying on his porch is something that will forever be in my memory. It made me realize how truly lucky I am for the family, friends and material items I have. Our group went to his house hoping to give him a little happiness on Christmas Eve. I wonder if he knew what a wonderful gift he gave us in return?