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Whoever enters my home for the first time will always be impressed with a small and white envelope. It is stuck among the branches of our Christmas tree. No name, no address. It has hung through the branches of our tree for the past 10 years or so.
It all began because my husband Mike hated Christmas. He didn’t hate the true meaning of Christmas, but the commercial aspects of it: overspending, the crazy running around at the last minute to get a tie for Uncle Harry and the dusting powder for Grandma and the gifts given in desperation because you couldn’t think of anything else.
Knowing he felt this way, I decided one year to ignore the usual shirts, sweaters, ties and so on. I reached for something special just for Mike. The inspiration came in an unusual way.
Our son Kevin, who was 12 that year, was wrestling(摔跤) at the junior level at the school he attended and shortly before Christmas, there was a nonleague match against a team sponsored by an innercity church, mostly black.
