No Underwear, please

It is easy for some of the clergy to talk about gift-giving, when they are not confronted with the problem of fulfilling a child's dream. A child who is depending on you to find what their little hearts desire. (They will hold it against you. You've got to find a way).

It touched me that Fr. P. in his blog spoke about his grandmother. She meant a great deal to him, because he hardly mentions anyone that he loves. As a grandmother, I can identify with that special relationship. She would make homemade things, warm and practical. My grandmother, gave me handkerchiefs. She didn't work and had a limited amount to spend on her fourteen grandchildren, not including her step-grandchildren.

Years ago, they did not have the pressure that our children are constantly putting us under. That is: advertisement. They want it and expect to get it. (If the Jones' have it, they are entitled too!) If you don't deliver, they'll be hell to pay. So, what do poor parents do that do not have the money to keep up with this insanity? Try to get to a sale. And because they know these items are limited, get to them first. The blame game, again. The parents are wrong.

Then, one of two things, don't have any children that you can't afford. Or, make so much money that you will not have to put up with the rantings, as you will give them everything that their hearts desire.

It is unfortunate that Commercialism and greed rule the day. That is not going to change. There is no room in the inn any more, people have stopped going to the stable. Baby Jesus is not the reason for this season. It is the almighty dollar once again.

There are other's out there, who need to be told that what they do for the poor and needy are very much appreciated. Since the fire department in our town provided our Christmas on many occasions, we owe them our deepest gratitude and respect. Often, these fighters give of their own time and treasure, while their own families sacrifice for the common good. God bless you all!

Every year we hear the horrible stories, like the Wal-Mart one on black Friday. The fact that someone got trampled to death should tell you something. It just isn't right. None of it is. Especially the merry making of partying people who won't go to church, but find time for everything else. They will not see the fallen state that we are and have been slipping into. (The hearts of many will grow cold).

Fr.P. advises moderation. My dad used to say the same thing. We got underwear, and other necessities, and except for one year, when I got a bride doll from my godmother, that I really wanted, we got little.

My dad always got a new shaving brush, blades and some cheep after shave. My mom got little things, nothing great that I remember. Santa did come, and we had a great meal, chocolate cream pie, and candy. We sang carols together.

The emphasis in our house was on going to mid-night mass, or the children's mass on Christmas day. And, when we closed our eye's knowing that we had better fall asleep right away, or Santa couldn't come, we always heard the sleigh-bells ringing outside. He was here! We knew it. After all, hadn't we been good little children? We knew we were getting the embarrasing underwear, at least.

I still can hear my mother singing her French Christmas Carols. I didn't know what they meant, but there was happiness and joy in her voice.