Posted on 12/23/2005 10:13:16 AM PST by Congressman Billybob
Today would have been my Father’s 100th birthday. There aren’t many folks left who will remember that, and take note. But I do, and here’s his story.
Before I sat down to write this, I read an e-mail about a lady who wrote about “A Simple White Envelope.” Her story began:
“It's just a small white envelope stuck among the branches of our Christmas tree. No name, no identification, no inscription. It has peeked through the branches of our tree for the past 10 years or so.
“It all began because my husband Mike hated Christmas -- oh, not the true meaning of Christmas, but the commercial aspects of it -- the overspending, the frantic running around at the last minute to get a tie for Uncle Harry and the dusting powder for Grandma -- the gifts given in desperation because you couldn't think of anything else. Knowing he felt this way, I decided one year to bypass the usual shirts, sweaters, ties, and so forth. I reached for something special just for Mike.”
It was the story of a gift of sporting equipment for an inner-city wrestling team that had competed against his son’s team, but lacked the right equipment, the head gear to protect their ears. That year, and each year after, she would make a gift to people who really needed it, and place a white envelope on the tree, telling of the gift made in his name.
This year, Mike died of cancer. She could barely bring herself to put up the tree. Yet, on Christmas morning, four envelopes appeared on the tree. One from her for Mike. And one each from all of his children. All described needed gifts, made to others in Mike’s name.
Well, on the 100th anniversary of his birth, this is a simple white envelope for my Dad.
He was larger than life. A bold man. A man of great achievement in all that he did, All his life, he worked for the phone company, back when there was only one phone company, and if you needed any equipment or service, you called the phone company. I know he took great satisfaction in his work. He would be sad to know that the last vestige of his work disappeared this year, when AT&T was bought out, having long ago been stripped of all its “baby Bells.”
He was a man of achievement in the Red Cross, the Boy Scouts, the Shrine, and a long list of other civic and service commitments.
He was also the linchpin of the family in which I grew up. It wasn’t until cancer brought him low and took him away in 1972, that I fully recognized how true that was. My Mother tried. The rest of us tried. But as William Blake wrote, centuries ago, “The center would not hold.”
My Father was quiet in his generosity. At his funeral, several young men came up to me and told me how he had helped them so they could attend college. One of the first of those was a young man from Salisbury, Maryland, by name of Paul Sarbanes. Paul went on to do good things with his life, mostly as a longtime Senator from Maryland.
Paul’s politics are quite different from mine. Still, I credit him highly that when the G. Maxwell Armor, Jr., State Headquarters of the Maryland Jaycees was dedicated in Frederick in honor of my Father (he’d been their first President, and Mother helped them with the building), Paul was there. He gave no speech, issued no press release. He was just there, standing in the rain with an umbrella, at the building dedication far from Washington. I will never forget that.
You see, I realized when I read that story about a simple white envelope and reflected on the life of my father, I realized that our Christmas trees had always been decorated by such envelopes. We didn’t do that physically, but the tradition of giving to others was always there. For my Grandfathers, for my Father, and now, I hope, for me and others to come.
It is a good feeling, a mitzvah, and a challenge to be the son of a man who gave so much of himself to others. Maybe in the year 2043, a few will remember me with at least half the kindness and thanks that on this day, I remember my Father.
Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year to all who read these columns of mine.
23 December, 2005
About the Author: John Armor is a First Amendment attorney and author who lives in the Blue Ridge Mountains of North Carolina. John_Armor@aya.yale.edu
BTTT
John:
G.B. Shaw's politics were very far from those of most FReepers, yet his personal philosophy strikes a chord in tune with your poignant, moving story:
Thank you, John, and a belated Merry Christmas to you.
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