The goodest gift -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- I'll tell you right now, get those tissues!!!!!

The Goodest Gift Every December, as I take out the Christmas decorations, I also take out the memory of a Christmas 20 years ago in a small town in central Maine and the gift that one little girl gave to another. In a world where Christmas is ever more glittery and commercialized, it reminds me that the true spirit of the season lies in giving, and receiving, from the heart.

Winters seemed to be colder back then, and school days dragged slowly by. At my small school, we had two classes for each grade. My class was for the children who got good grades. Most of us wore nice clothes and our parents were in the PTA. Those in the "slower" class didn't get good report cards. Most of the kids were poor. We attended the same school year after year, and by fourth grade we all knew who belonged in which class. The one exception was the girl I shall call Marlene Crocker.

I still remember the day when Marlene was transferred to the "smarter" class. She stood by the teacher's desk that morning in a wool skirt that hung down below her knees. Her sweater was patched, but her face was wide and hopeful.

She was not at all pretty except for her intelligent-looking brown eyes. I had heard Marlene was a good student, though, and I wondered why she hadn't been in the "smarter" class all along. As she stood waiting for the teacher to assign her a seat, for a moment I imagined that I might become her friend and we would talk together at recess. Then the whispers began. "She's not sitting beside me!" someone sneered.

"That will be enough," the teacher said firmly, and the class turned silent. No one would laugh at Marlene again – at least not when the teacher was in the room.

Marlene and I never talked together at recess as I'd first imagined. The boundaries that separated us were too firmly drawn.

One late autumn day, Mom and I happened to be out driving along a wooded back road. It was one that we seldom took because Mom said it wasted gas. I was busy chattering away when suddenly, out the window, I saw a tar-paper shack so tiny that it would have fit inside our bathroom. The shack was set far back in a big field littered with rusted car parts. Across the yard stretched a long clothesline, beneath which stood a little girl who looked at us as we sped past. It was Marlene. I raised my hand to wave, but our car had already passed her. "That poor little girl," my mother said, "hanging out clothes and it's going to rain."

Once the snow came that winter, it seemed as though it would never stop. As Christmas drew near, my spirits were as high as the snowdrifts as I watched the pile of presents grow beneath our Christmas tree. At school, a few days before our school Christmas party, we passed around a hat in class to pick the name of a classmate for whom we'd buy a gift. The hat went around, and the names were drawn. Finally, the hat came to Marlene. One boy leaned forward, closer than anyone had ever been to Marlene, and hooted as he read her slip of paper. "Marlene got Jenna's name."

I began to blush furiously as I heard my name. Marlene looked down at her desk, but the teasing went on until our teacher stopped it. "I don't care," I vowed haughtily, but I felt cheated.

The day of the party, I marched to the bus reluctantly, carrying a nice gift of Magic Markers for the person whose name I had drawn. At school, we ate the Christmas cookies our mothers had baked and drank our grape drink. Then the presents were handed out, and the wrapping paper went flying as everyone tore into them.

The moment I had been dreading had arrived. Suddenly it seemed as though everyone was crowding around. Sitting on my desk was a small package wrapped neatly in tissue paper. I looked over at Marlene. She was sitting alone. Suddenly overcome by the need to protect Marlene from the mocking of my classmates, I seized Marlene's gift, unwrapped it and sat there, holding it hidden in my hand.

"What is it?" a boy hollered, when he could stand it no longer.

"It's a wallet," I finally answered.

The bell rang and the buses came and someone said to Marlene, "Did your old man make it from the deer he shot?"

Marlene nodded and said, "And my ma."

"Thank you, Marlene," I said.

"You're welcome," she said. We smiled at each other. Marlene was not my friend but I never teased her. Maybe when I got bigger, I would ride my bike over there and we could talk and play. I thought about that as I rode the bus home. I tried not to think of what Marlene's Christmas would be like.

Years went by. I went on to high school and college, and lost contact with most of my childhood schoolmates. Whenever I struggled with math problems, I recalled the way Marlene had always breezed through hers. I heard rumors that Marlene had dropped out of school to help her mother with the younger children at home. Then I heard that she had married young and started having babies of her own.

One day, I came across the white doeskin wallet I had received at that Christmas party long ago. Funny how, of all the gifts, I'd kept this one through the years. I took it out and studied its intricate craftsmanship. Beneath the top flap, I noticed a small slit holding a tiny piece of paper that I had never seen before. Sitting in my comfortable home, I read the words that Marlene had written to me years before. "To my best friend," they said. Those words pierced my heart. I wished I could go back, to have the courage to be the kind of friend I'd wanted to be. Belatedly, I understood the love that had been wrapped inside that gift.

There are a few things that I unpack every year at Christmastime – an old wooden crèche, shiny balls for the tree and a Santa figurine. I take the wallet out, too. Last year, I told my small son the story of the girl who had given it to me. He thought about it and then he said, "Of all the gifts, that was the goodest gift, wasn't it?"

And I smiled, grateful for the wisdom that let him see that it was.

By Jenna Day Submitted by Patricia Bradford Reprinted by permission of Jenna Day © 1990, from Chicken Soup for the Christian Soul by Jack Canfield, Mark Victor Hansen, Patty Aubery and Nancy Mitchell.

DOTZAP Registered User posts: 110 (12/31/00 9:52:15 am) Reply | Edit | Del Re: The goodest gift -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- ::tears:: Sue, that was so very touching. Yes, that wallet was the "goodest gift of all". ::sniffle:: What a great story!

"The love for all living creatures is the noblest attribute of man." ~~~Charles Darwin~~~ Please visit us at the Thought Message Board Guardian 507 The Guardian Academy

Barefoot Mailman Chief Techie posts: 134 (12/31/00 10:14:44 am) Reply | Edit | Del Re: The goodest gift -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Got my eyes watering!

Where is that damn tissue box?

SAR01 ezOP posts: 698 (12/31/00 10:38:15 am) Reply | Edit | Del Re: The goodest gift -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Dottie, Jay got us and unending supply of tissues!!!!! did you see them!?

-- SAR01 (rauch01@yahoo.com), March 09, 2001