Until last year, the greatest sorrow of my life was that my
wife Alice and I couldn't have any children. To make up
for this in a small way, we always invited all the children
on our street to our house each Christmas morning for
breakfast.
We would decorate the house with snowflakes and angels
in the windows, a nativity scene and a Christmas tree in
the living room, and other ornaments that we hoped would
appeal to the children. When our young guests arrived,
there were usually ten or fifteen of them, we said grace and
served them such delicacies as orange juice garnished with
a candy cane. And after the meal we gave each of the
youngsters a wrapped toy or game. We used to look forward
to these breakfasts with the joyful impatience of children.
But last year, about six weeks before Christmas, Alice died.
I could not concentrate at work. I could not force myself to
cook anything but the simplest dishes. Sometimes I would
sit for hours without moving, and then suddenly find myself
crying for no apparent reason.
I decided not to invite the children over for the traditional
Christmas Breakfast. But Kathy and Peter, my next door
neighbors, asked me to join them and their three children
for dinner on Christmas Eve. As soon as I arrived and had
my coat off, Kathy asked me, Do you have any milk at
your house?
Yes, I replied. If you need some, I'll go right away.
Oh, that's all right. Come and sit down. The kids have
been waiting for you. Just give Peter your keys.
So I sat down, prepared for a nice chat with eight-year-
old Beth and six-year-old Jimmy. (Their little sister was
upstairs sleeping.) But my words wouldn't come. What if
Beth and Jimmy should ask me about my Christmas
Breakfast? How could I explain to them? Would they
think I was just selfish or self-pitying? I began to think
they would. Worse, I began to think they would be right.
But neither of them mentioned the breakfast. At first I
felt relieved, but then I started to wonder if they
remembered it or cared about it. As they prattled on
about their toys, their friends and Christmas, I thought
they would be reminded of our breakfast tradition, and
yet they said nothing. This was strange, I thought, but
the more we talked, the more I became convinced that
they remembered the breakfast but didn't want to
embarrass Grandpa Melowski (as they called me) by
bringing it up.
Dinner was soon ready and afterward we all went to late
Christmas Eve Services. After the service, the Zacks
let me out of their car in front of my house.
I thanked them and wished them all Merry Christmas
as I walked toward my front door.
Only then did I notice that Peter had left a light on
when he borrowed the milk and that someone had
decorated my windows with snowflakes and angels!
When I opened the door, I saw that the whole house had
been transformed with a Christmas tree, a Nativity
Scene, candles and all the other decorations of the
season. On the dining room table was Alice's green
Christmas tablecloth and her pinecone centerpiece.
What a kind gesture! At that moment, I wished that I
could still put on the breakfast, but I had made no
preparations.
Early the next morning, a five-year-old with a package
of sweet rolls rang my bell. Before I could ask him
what was going on, he was joined by two of his friends,
one with a pound of bacon, the other with a pitcher of
orange juice. Within fifteen minutes, my house was
alive with all the children on my street, and I had all
the food I needed for the usual festive breakfast. I was
tremendously pleased, although in the back of my
mind I still feared that I would disappoint my guests. I
knew my spur-of-the-moment party was missing one
important ingredient.
At about nine-thirty, though, I had another surprise.
Kathy Zack came to my back door
How's the breakfast? She asked.
I'm having the time of my life, I answered.
I brought something for you, She said, setting a
shopping bag on the counter.
More food?
No, she said. Take a look.
Inside the bag were individually wrapped packages,
each bearing the name of one of the children and
signed, Merry Christmas from Grandpa Melowski.
My happiness was complete. It was more than just
knowing that the children would receive their
customary gifts and wouldn't be disappointed; it was
the feeling that everyone cared.
I like to think it's significant that I received a gift
of love on the same day that the world received a
sign of God's love two thousand years ago in
Bethlehem. I never found out who to thank for my
Christmas present. I said my thank you in my
prayers that night and that spoke of my gratitude
more than anything I could ever say to my neighbors.
Grandpa Melowski
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