The streets were quiet this cold night in December. A lone
figure of a man walked stooped over, carrying a sack which held who knows what?
He seemed to be muttering to himself as if trying to remember something like a
name or an address. I kept my distance not wanting to disturb him after all it
was Christmas eve, and I was late getting home. Every so often the old man
stopped in front of a house and scratching his long beard either he walked on,
or he took something from his sack and seemed to hide it in bushes or in the
crook of a tree. I let him get ahead and I stopped and looked under a bush he
had stopped at. To my surprise I found a very weathered little ball. Its once
bright color now faded and certainly not something a child would want. I
replaced the ball under the bush and went on towards home and a hot meal. By
the time I reached my front door, I had all but forgot about the old man who
was probably a victim of the streets. To myself I wished him well.
Christmas morning was ushered in with a freshly fallen snow
and children everywhere tearing open gifts to the delight of parents around the
world. But some children woke up to a cold house, little food to eat and
parents who felt sadness and shame because a sack of rice or loaf of bread was
more important than a new toy or a pair of shoes not stuffed with paper. Paul
was nine years old this Christmas, he always thought it was great his birthday
fell on the same day Christmas did even if getting gifts only happened a few
times that he could remember. Why should this day be any different than the
other days?
Standing at the door getting ready to go find his friends,
Paul looked down at a set of footprints leading to the bush in front of his
house. To big for a dog or cat he said out loud. Lifting the branches, a little
he looked in and saw a ball. It wasn’t his, he would have remembered that. It
was an old ball with faded colors but, he liked it just the same. He thought to
himself it was a birthday/Christmas gift that he wasn’t expecting. Smiling, he continued
on his way bouncing the new ball whistling a Christmas song he remembered from
years ago. Up ahead he saw two of his buddies waiting for him. What took ya?
They both asked at the same time. Paul threw the ball at Mark who caught it then
tossed it to Peter who looked it over. Aint new that’s for sure. The three boys
passed that ball around for a long time just happy to have something to play
with.
The boys met up with Harry in the alley behind the Chinese
restaurant. He was busy filling his sack with thrown out food exclaiming that
he had found a Christmas miracle. A whole tray of egg rolls burnt a little but
still warm and edible. I’ve got enough he said to his friends, get in there and
fill your sacks. It wasn’t even noon yet and already they had food to take home
and a new ball to play with. It really was beginning to look a lot like
Christmas. Back out in the street Paul saw his little sister Ruth looking into
the bakery window. Her eyes were open wide, and she was licking her lips. Ruth,
Paul called, why aren’t you at home? She told her brother mom was crying and
dad left the house slamming the door behind him. She thought she had done
something wrong, so she left to look for him.
Here, he said tossing the ball to his sister. Play with this
while I look for more food. Ruth’s attention turned quickly from her empty
stomach to the faded ball as Paul walked back into the alley. He was halfway
into a dumpster when he saw what looked like a baby doll. He wiped food scraps
off it and used his shirt sleeve to clean it as much as possible. He thought to
himself some little girl got a new doll and just threw this one away. He put it
in his sack and kept looking for anything he thought useful. Everyone seemed to
have some holiday good fortune that day as they headed home with full sacks and
smiling faces. Eventually the boys went their separate ways and Paul and Ruth
walked in silence as they neared their house not knowing what they would find
inside. Paul softly opened the door finding their mom at the kitchen table
cleaning a few fish. Where did they come from, Paul asked her? It was the
strangest thing she began. I was shaking a rug on the front stoop when I saw
what looked like a rolled newspaper over by the old oak tree. It was in the
lowest crook of the trunk just there. I took it down and opened it finding
these beautiful fish that looked freshly caught. Paul thought to himself a ball
a baby doll and fish. Oh, and plenty of egg rolls. Looked like the makings of a
real Christmas. Just then the door flew open and dad came in carrying a
Christmas tree. It wasn’t much of a tree as a lot of the branches were gone. He
said he found it behind the department store where the tree had been on display
since thanksgiving. It’s not much he said but, its ours.
Covered with torn and stained blankets the old man tried to
keep warm. He had been out all-night delivering gifts to those who needed them
the most. A faded ball that he had found in the park, a tray of egg rolls he
made burn slightly as the cook chased him out of the restaurant calling him a
bum. A baby doll left behind only to be replaced was found in the belongings of
a homeless lady he visited once in awhile under the bridge where he and so many
like him tried to keep warm when the shelters were full. As for the fish, over
the years he had helped deliver fish to the market. It was a job he liked, and
the boss treated him with respect. Time went on and the boss passed away
leaving the business to his son who let him continue to work once in a while.
Early on Christmas eve he helped out and the boss’s son gave him three nice
fish wrapped in newspaper. The cold kept them fresh until they reached where
they were going.
Before drifting off to sleep, the old man felt good inside.
Christmas wasn’t just for those who could afford it, no, it was a special day
that everybody should have to remember. For months he collected discarded
things that would bring joy to someone. He walked for miles last night hiding
old toys, worn clothing and shoes of various sizes and styles. There were tea
kettles some with broken spouts but worked just the same. Baseball gloves and
bats, and always bouncing balls. He never had much growing up, so he knew what
children felt when there wasn’t enough for Christmas gifts under the tree. The
old man drifted off to sleep knowing tomorrow he would begin his search for
broken toys and tea pots once again. God willing.
Paul’s family decorated their tree with scraps of newspaper
and pieces of colored yarn mom had hidden away hoping someday she would have
enough to knit a warm scarf. The kitchen stove kept them warm as the fish and
egg rolls filled the small house with wonderful smells. Paul opened his sack
and gave Ruth the baby doll he found. She held it tightly and told it someday
mommy would knit her a fancy dress. Digging further into his sack Paul pulled
out a pair of pink slippers. The fuzzy had worn off but they were still free of
any holes and he thought his mom would like them. She cried a little as she
tried them on telling her son they were perfect and oh so warm. Lastly, he
reached to the bottom of the bag pulling out a pocketknife with the small blade
missing but the bigger blade was ok. He gave it to his dad who hugged him
around his neck nodding his approval.
Years passed and Paul’s life took many turns, but he never
forgot his childhood and the struggles his family endured. When he was sixteen
years of age, he read in the newspaper of an old homeless man found frozen to
death under a bridge. The article said He had a huge pile of what most would
call junk all stacked in piles around him, like faded balls and broken teapots,
just about anything he thought someone could use. Paul knew in his heart he was
the poor mans Santa who gave him that faded ball so long ago. He spread the
news of this to every kid who called the streets their home and on the day of
his burial, dozens showed up at Potters field for what became an annual
Christmas tradition. It has always been custom to leave a little something on
the grave, a token of your love for the departed. This grave was no exception. Throughout
the year kids left small almost whole toys, chipped colorful marbles, broken
toy soldiers and just about anything they thought he would like. It was more
than a grave, it was a memory for a man whose heart was as large as the piles
of his treasures. Merry Christmas to everyone.
Mike
