The FReeper Foxhole Wishes Everyone A Merry Christmas

A Veteran On The Street?

Editor:

I meet him, pass him on the street and have to avert my eyes. Like me, he has a cane. Unlike me, he moves slowly. He is perhaps older and in worse health. His clothes cry poverty, his face is tragic. I feel guilty at just being in better shape, able to walk into the pharmacy I'm headed for and buy supplies for the weeks ahead.

I get my purchases, listening to the chatter of the clerks as I wait in line, leaning against a display because it's hard to stand. And as I leave, I see the pretty bows, tiny bows, something new to make the little packages festive and to encourage you to buy, buy, buy. 'Tis the season.

As I leave the store, my mind returns to the poor old guy I passed on my way in, and I wonder, one week after Veterans' Day, if he is a vet, and if so, if that is why he is so poor and so disabled and sad. And I wonder who they died for, those buddies he must have had. Some came back revved for graduate school, their due under the G.I. Bill of Rights. They had their careers in medicine or what-have-you, their families: wives, children and grandchildren, whom they spoiled (unfortunately). Others came back sick or wounded, hooked on cigarettes or alcohol, the recreational drugs of World War II soldiers. Some died of illnesses related to these addictions. Some lost their families, their self-respect, their ability to adjust to and function in a very changed and changing civilian society that mocked mercilessly what they had believed in, fought and died for (or at least their buddies did). Put simply, they got flushed.

Thinking about such things, and about how guys like that will be spending the holidays, just sickens me. And there is nothing I can do about it. I have little money, and I'm not well myself, but even so, I am more comfortable than he. And I understand how it feels to be excluded, to be a family "black sheep," as he might be. So Merry Christmas Veterans and remember that there is a God, and He cares. Perhaps a little more for the excluded, the sick and the poor than for those who already have too much of a good thing and are in less need of cheer. God bless you all.

- Eleanor Newton

You do beautiful work, SAMWolf. May God bless you and yours.

Here's wishing the spirit of Christmas to all in uniform, past and present, regardless of faith, regardless of branch you serve/d in. May God bless each and every one of you. We pray for you, think of you often in these perilous times, and we are *deeply* grateful to you; you sentries of the lamp of freedom.

Those entertainers give up their Christmas to spend some time with the troops.

I stumbled across a page at a website dedicated to the song "Silent Night"...
There is a good page of recollection of soldiers away from home and the song; Bob Hope gets
honorable mention in the first story.
The URL is:

http://www.fortunecity.com/victorian/museum/59/war.html

Thank you spald. AntiJen and MistyCA do a great job at the Foxhole.

Merru Christmas to you and yours.

Well said, top of the world ma.

Merry Christmas and thanks for taking the time to drop by the Foxhole.

Hmmmmm. Dad's job? So why is it that I always get roped into putting things together around my house????? I feel cheated! :) Just kidding! I love it. :)

Thanks VOA!

I set it up as a link:

What a great looking bunch of guys! Thanks for posting that picture! :)

Thank you so much for posting that. Merry Christmas to you.

They Sit Alone On Christmas Day

By Guy Lounsbury

Christmas is a time of joy, spiritual awakening and reflection. We eat and drink too much, we laugh and we cry together, we catch up with old friends and most of all we share good fellowship. Christmas cheer replaces harsh words, we forgive and we forget. We are fortunate and our blessings are many.

We also like to take this time of year to think about whom we have been and who we hope to become. We like to think of what our future will bring. I myself envision some distant Christmas Day, comfortable in my retirement, warm in my home, surrounded by family, carving the golden brown turkey or perfectly cooked ham as my testament to life watches on with affection, smiles and love.

There are four old men in Knox to whom this future never came. I don’t know their names, I don’t know what they look like; I really don’t know anything about them or the lives they have led. The only thing I know about them is they are alone, day after day, year after year. I know they sit alone on Christmas Day.

Tina, the Township Tavern proprietress and Berne-Knox Angel, recently told me of them. She wouldn’t give me their names; she wouldn’t say much at all. I suppose they have their pride, we all do, age doesn’t diminish that. They don’t need or want our pity. But they do have needs and they do have wants. Last year there were five old men alone on Christmas Day, this year, sadly, that number has been reduced to four.

With only the memories of family and friends gathered for Christmases of yesteryear to keep them company, Christmas Day must be an especially lonely time for these four old men. What things have they seen, what stories could they tell, what Christmases have they celebrated? Do they remember Christmas during The Great Depression, when presents were few but the sense of togetherness great? Did they spend a Christmas in Europe, frozen in a foxhole, scared and shivering, sharing the last of their cigarettes with close comrades along with thoughts and desires of home? They watched old friends and family pass from this life; each year pausing a little longer in remembrance as the list of the departed grew until finally the pause became all that was left. Surely they never imagined that they would sit alone on Christmas Day.

What kind of a future is it in which a person could find themselves alone, no family, no friends, just watching the seasons pass through their windows and counting the days with nothing to look forward to? What brings someone to such a lonely life? Why do we let such things happen? There are four old men that could tell us the answers. But their words go unsaid, their feelings unexpressed, and their days slowly pass like the leaves falling silently from an early autumn tree.

We don’t like to think of the aged, this is natural I suppose. They are an inconvenience. They drive too slowly, with their blinkers endlessly flashing. They hold up the lines in a store as they look for exact change. They are always in our way. But surely the sun feels as warm on their faces as it does ours. Where they are now, we will soon be. Look at the elderly and we look at our own future.

A friend of mine once told me that getting old is not for the squeamish, my parents assure me this is true. I am middle aged now; young is no longer a word I can use to describe myself. Only yesterday I was worried about turning 30 and now I am over 40. My hair is grey and receding, my waistline expanding, my sight diminishing and my reflexes slowing down. I am at that age where I realize that I am not immortal. I can hear of four old men, alone on Christmas Day, and realize that I might well find myself in their shoes someday. Someday, God forbid, I too might sit alone on Christmas Day.

Last year Santa’s helpers, with the assistance of the Tavern Christmas Fund, were able to spread Christmas cheer to 18 children in the Hilltowns that wouldn’t have known the joy of Christmas otherwise. Santa, generosity personified, really does come to them.

I know one of these helpers. When he tells the stories of the children and their wonderment at Santa’s visit I can see old Saint Nicholas’s spirit shining from within his eyes and for that brief instant my own belief in Santa Claus has been restored.. This year the list will probably grow, unfortunately such lists always seem to. All will be taken care of, our angel will see to that.

But Christmas isn’t only for the young; it is for everyone. Christmas wonderment doesn’t recognize age and Santa will also visit the old men during this holiday season. They too will be remembered. Each will receive a gift basket, fruit, nuts, little goodies, trinkets perhaps inside. The basket is little enough, just a reason and an excuse to stop by their homes. The visit itself is the thing they look forward to. It is a chance, for even a few short minutes, to share a cup of coffee, maybe some holiday cheer, to talk, to be acknowledged and to touch a fellow human being. That is the real reason for Santa’s coming. It is a great gift; the people that give it truly have the Christmas Spirit in their hearts. Unfortunately, time is precious to Santa, he has many stops to make, and the visits must end much more quickly than all would like.

I am ashamed. I have been well blessed in my life but I had forgotten what Christmas is about. I go to the Township Tavern, I throw money in the Christmas Fund Jar, my conscience is alleviated, and I have done my part. In reality, I have done as little as possible because there are still four old men that sit alone on Christmas Day.

Fortunately one of my blessings is to have friends, better people than myself, that lead by example. They have reminded me what Christmas is all about. They take time from their own lives to remember others. They give a gift that is priceless, they give time, they give joy and truly, what they give they also receive. You can see it in their eyes and the smiles on their faces. They will leave something with each of the four old men, but they will also take something wonderful away with them. They will feel the indescribable warmth that Christmas is suppose to bring. I envy them this feeling, I doubt many get to feel it with the intensity they do.

I would like to give a gift, not a gift that can be found in a store or on the internet, not a gift that momentarily amuses and is quickly forgotten. This year I think I would like to give a gift from the heart, a gift that really means something. I would like to find someone who expects to be alone on Christmas Day. I want to give that someone the gift of caring. I want to listen to their stories I want them to know that their life had meaning, value, and that most of all that they are appreciated. I want this gift to last all year long. I want to give the gift of friendship to someone who could use a friend. Maybe it is childlike of me, maybe I am denying the harsh realities of life, but then maybe that is what Christmas is all about. For myself as much as them, I don’t want four old men in Knox to sit alone on Christmas Day.

If I might be permitted the space, I would like to wish an especially Merry Christmas and Happy New Year to Tina Johnston (what would we ever do without you), Dave Quay (buddy, you’re the best) and Ed Rivenburg (he really is Santa Claus) and also everyone else that makes Christmas so special for those less fortunate. It is easy to say Merry Christmas, but it takes special people to make a Merry Christmas. I don’t know why the Hilltowns have been so blessed with an abundance of such people but they have.

In the words of Tiny Tim, “God bless us, everyone”.

GREAT pictures, except for the troll in the middle of the last one! :)

Thank you, Jinx! I love the graphics and am always worried about posting too many. But here's another one.

This is awful. I join with the wish that these things be taken care of! You would think that we are a large enough organization on FR to make the kind of noise necessary to bring these things out in the open. Can we do that??? Please!

Merry Christmas, everyone!!!

Merry Christmas!

Hmmmm....I only remember the part about tip-toeing through the tulips! :)

Well hello, Miss Delsoul,

Nice to see you! Merry Christmas!

Merry Christmas everyone!