"Never before have so many written so much to be read by so few."

I will write about anything that disturbs me, concerns me, scares me, puzzles me or makes me laugh. I hope to be able to educate regularly, and entertain most of the time.

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Wednesday, December 25, 2013

C'mon, Ring Those Bells!



                The Salvation Army bell ringers are being told they can’t collect in front of certain stores any more.  Apparently, some people find them irritating.  More likely, they find they feel uncomfortable having to walk by them without contributing.  I would like to see more of them.  I’ll tell you why.
                Every year I drop a little something in one of those red buckets attended by a person ringing a small bell and displaying the identity of the Salvation Army.  I don’t give anything the rest of the year.  There are other recipients of my funds who benefit on a regular basis.  But every December I see those bell ringers and am reminded of a good deed they once did for me and my family, and I pray as I drop my money into that bucket that some other family will benefit this year.
                It was 1961, and a cold front was moving into the Syracuse, New York region as my mother drove a Ford Fairlane crammed full of all her earthly possessions and her four rambunctious children out of that dark winter toward a new, sunny life in Southern California.  It was a brave move for her.  She had just enough money, carefully calculated for gas, food and lodging along the way.  She’d have to find another job as soon as she arrived in the Golden State.  Route 66, now a historic and romantic memory to so many, was a challenge and an obstacle to overcome for her.  Five days later, we were all in Southern California, filled with memories that would be recalled for decades whenever we got together.
                By the time we found an apartment in Signal Hill, Christmas was just around the corner, but Santa, it seemed, would not be able to find us kids that year.  This family that had been living on subsistence wages the only adult in the family had brought home to our little apartment in the government housing in Eastwood, Onondaga County, New York, had used up every dollar on our cross-country trek.  Determined her children would have something to open on Christmas morning, my mom sought out the local Salvation Army.  They supplied her with five gifts, already wrapped.  On the morning of December 25, 1961, each opened our little present and were truly happy to have those little toys.  We took our time, opening one present at a time, beginning with the youngest.  My brother, Jim, was the last to open his.  In those days, charities accepted donations of gifts already wrapped, so nobody knew what was in any gift box, only that it was for “teen boy,” or some other designation.  So, in great anticipation, Jim, the eldest of the Reed siblings, the one who felt more fully than the younger ones the reality of our poverty, tore the pretty wrapping off a flat gift about the size of a shirt box one would get from a department store.  His smile went flat as he held up the contents.  Someone had donated a medium size burlap sack with these words printed on it, “For the man who has everything…Here’s a bag to put it in.”  It took awhile, but that one event following our 3,000-mile journey, became the focal point of the family’s migration as everyone learned to laugh at the irony of it.  We still had nothing, but now we had nothing in California where it was 56 degrees.  Syracuse folks were bundled up for their 22-degree snowy day.
                I have never forgotten the provision of the Salvation Army that Christmas.  Sure, they messed up with that one gift, but like many other organizations they learned to accept only unwrapped presents, ensuring that sort of thing never happens again.  But that mix-up provided our family with a memory that lives in us to this day.  Whenever I recall that Christmas morning, I remember our poverty and become more sensitive to those all around me who are travelling through that same station in life, hopefully onto a more prosperous destination, who just need a little assistance, a little encouragement, a little hope.
                That’s what I think about when I hear and see those bell ringers.  That is why I take out my wallet and contribute something with a prayer for whoever will benefit from that gift.  May God bless them and those they serve.

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