Christmases past, present and future

by David Grand
December 24, 2003

In my version of Charles Dickens' Christmas Carol, I didn't have to worry about being scared out of my wits as Ebenezer Scrooge was by phantom ghosts appearing out of nowhere in human form to disturb my sleep on Christmas Eve. For unlike that miser, who was drowned in guilt for his lifetime of selfishness, my memories of past Christmases are filled with happiness, with only a few "blue" ones interspersed along the way. Plus, the only ghost I've ever seen was in that movie "Casper the friendly ghost," who drove off his bad ghost relatives.

The fondest memories I have of Christmastime were in my boyhood, when my mother's family members would gather at grandma's house for the traditional opening of the presents stacked around the tree, with my Aunt Elsie banging out Christmas carols on the piano. Now, while me and my bunch of cousins sung a few verses, our attention was focused on the mountain of presents, trying to see how many had our names on 'em.

Yes, I have spent a few lonely Christmases by myself. But none could match the loneliness I felt on Christmas Day in 1952, when I was on a frozen, mountain top in Korea with only the other four members of my tank crew for company. We'd pooled our C rations to cook a pot of mulligan stew, a poor substitute for a stuffed turkey and mashed potatoes. But it fortified us when taking turns pulling guard duty outside our bunker in sub zero weather.

We looked high and low for anything we could fashion into a Christmas tree but to no avail. So we ended up making a wreath out of twigs from a scrawny bush. It was hung on the muzzle of the tank's cannon (pointed towards the enemy's lines) with a big, red bow from the Christmas gift the gunner's wife had sent him. But in a matter of minutes, a shavetail (second lieutenant) arrived in a jeep and ordered us to take it down for fear that the Chinese might use it to zero their mortars in on our position. Needless to say, we didn't offer that Grinch any of our leftover stew.

Speaking of Christmas trees, I received a live, potted one delivered by express mail a week ago that rekindled my Yuletide spirit. It was shipped from California without any indication of who'd sent it. But I didn't have to rack my brain for long to figure out who that thoughtful friend was. And while it's only slightly over a foot high, I derived as much pleasure in decorating it with the tiny lights and ornaments that came with it as those who decorated the White House tree.

And it sits on the same table as the Nativity scene I've had since I was a kid, which I left there all year long as a reminder of the true meaning of Christmas. I can only hope that one of my sons will regard it as a family heirloom to be passed on to future generations.

Spurred on by the warmth of that little tree, I then went ahead and strung hundreds of Christmas lights on a beautifully- shaped pine tree in the middle of my front yard. And I did so, not to show up my neighbors, but rather to show, that while my arteries may have hardened, my heart hasn't.

As regards future Christmases, it's my hope that I'll still be around for a few more. But more importantly, I hope that the guns will be silenced around the world by next Christmas. And that it won't be another bleak one for the millions of unemployed Americans; for those who stand to lose their unemployment benefits at the rate of 90,000 each week after the Dec. 27 cutoff; for the 35 million Americans living in poverty (with a child dying every 53 minutes because of it); for the 840 million starving people, or 1 in 7 worldwide (with 40,000 dying daily of diseases and malnutrition); for the retirees whose pensions and health plans have been lost or slashed; and for the hundred of thousands of "discarded" and homeless children in this country who only have a hospital bed or temporary shelter to call home. However, those stains on our society and around the planet can be removed if we believe as Martin Luther said, "every thing worthwhile that's done in the world is done by hope."