A box of hope – just in time for Christmas

December 1955

Until the age of eight, when my brother was born, I was an “only child” and spent a great deal of time playing or reading by myself; though my other favorite pastime was hanging out with my father, following him around like a little shadow.

My dad was the person who taught me the importance of giving to others. Mom was more focused on running the house and keeping things organized. On Saturdays I would go with my dad on his “rounds” – we visited the bank, the hardware store, filled up the car with gas, etc. I always looked forward to those Saturday times just to “pal around” with Dad in Noblesville. (Some of you will remember American National, Western Auto, Phillips 66, etc.)

When I was around the age of five, near the holidays, Dad asked me if I wanted to accompany him on a very special errand. Daddy was a member of a lodge in our town, whose members decided that they wanted to help some local families in need during the holiday season. Names and addresses were distributed, and Dad and I stopped at the local grocery store to pick up some food items and at the “five and dime” store (similar to a tiny Walmart I suppose!) to purchase some small toys.

Though I thought it was a neat adventure, I did not, of course, have an understanding of what real human need was. My world was secure and cozy; that was all I knew. So, we purchased our items and off we went … to an area of town where I had never visited.

My dad parked the Buick (he always drove a Buick) on the street and lifted a large box out of the trunk and carried it to the front door. My first impression was that the door was very dirty. (An odd thing to remember, specifically after so many years, but there you go.) We were loaded down with packages and waited patiently for the door to be answered, and it was.

My experience with people in general at that point in my life was pretty much limited to my immediate and extended families and Disney television programs. After so many years, I can still visualize the appearance of the mother who answered the door.

To me, as a child, she looked both frightened and frightening. Her eyes were red, her face drawn, hair unkempt, and I recall that she was very thin. Behind her were several small children, and nearby in the room were a couple of older kids – older than me at least. I could see that someone was lying on the threadbare sofa, but the mother and children were mostly blocking my view from the doorway. I don’t recall exactly what my dad said to her, but I am sure he was indicating who we were, why we were there, etc.

I am also sure that my mouth dropped open completely because still today I recall how shocked I was. When my eyes left the dirt floor, I was able to see more clearly the form on the sofa in the tiny house. It was a man, who was obviously ill. Although of course I never learned what his illness was, only that he seemed quite incapacitated. He may have sat up, but I don’t recall that he ever actually stood up; I believe he was unable to do so.

I now realize as an adult how utterly humiliated he must have been as well. The time frame was the mid-1950s and it was widely considered at that time that a man was the sole provider of his home and family.

The children – and I am guessing at this time, of course, but I believe there were at least five of them – were barefoot (recall that this is just before Christmas – in Indiana!) and were wearing thin and dirty clothes. There was no Christmas tree and I think at that time to me that was just as shocking as anything else!

The large box we delivered was mostly fruit – oranges, apples, pears – and the children immediately began digging into the box, which included staples such as bread and milk, as well as some small toys for boys and girls. I consequently learned that Dad had a list of all the genders and ages provided by the coordinators at his Lodge. I then saw the children opening some packages, and the contents really surprised me as I did not know we even had these items with us – underwear and socks! (I suppose my mother was in charge of purchasing those.) I could not imagine at the time why anyone would get underwear and socks for Christmas!

The house was cold, there was newspaper taped up to the wall in several places. Now, of course, I know that was to help keep out the cold air. I am sure there was little if any heat in the house. It was so different from anything I had seen in my short life, though the images that day made such a lasting impression that I can still close my eyes and see it all again.

My dad was born in the 1920s, one of four children, and his father was a coal miner in Kentucky. Most of Dad’s growing-up years were rather poor, I am certain. The financial woes of the Great Depression lingered for many years throughout this country. I believe, though he never said so, that the visit that day had some familiar overtones from his own youth. Members of what Tom Brokaw has often referred to as the “Greatest Generation” seldom talked about their Depression-era experiences – they just used them to make a better life for themselves and their families, and to reach out to others in need. Fortunately for our family, my dad secured a job as a young man with General Motors and we had ample income for our needs.

That cold December day in 1955 revealed to me in no uncertain terms the meaning of love – the purest form of love which is that for fellow suffering human beings – the love that causes people to step out of their own comfort zone with a heart and hand for others. As often happens, significant childhood memories stay somewhat buried through our teenage and young adult years, and then settle into our psyches as we become more mature adults.

Seeing for the first time my dad’s compassion for these people (and other instances through the years) made a lasting impression upon me – and one that I will always cherish. I firmly believe that it is due to my dad’s example that I do have a heart and a motivation to help those in need, both human beings and others – all God’s creatures!

There were many similar examples throughout my childhood, but this one is truly memorable to me.

Love is about what we can do to reduce others’ suffering, to give them a reason to hope and a reason to believe that their lives are significant, and that others care about them. From serving those in the greatest need around the world to those who may live around the corner in our own neighborhoods, love manifests itself in its greatest form by each of us, individually. I feel so completely blessed that growing up I knew that I was loved by my family, and as an adult I have found committed and romantic love with my spouse. I am both thankful and humbled by this.

And I am very grateful that although Dad is no longer here, he left to me the greatest legacy a parent could provide – an example of how to love others and give of yourself because, to me, that is the meaning of love. I hope that I, too, have modeled that behavior to my own children and that they will continue that legacy to my grandchildren and beyond. Generations of love and compassion will give us the power to truly change our world for the better.

What are you doing? In the 1950s, there were few organized efforts to reach out to those in need of shelter, food, clothing and yes – toys for Christmas. Thankfully, today there are many organizations, and the need is great. Most of us are blessed with some level of resources to make a difference in our communities and our world. Whether it is your financial resources, your volunteer time, the extra goodies you prepare for family, friends and neighbors … and the time you take to smile and wish a stranger well, know that you have made a difference in this world and have shined a light which can radiate onward to others.