For they are the ones who think you are better than them!!”

This article is not about children though it may as well be for the two are very similar in their needs and requirements.

I would like to talk about our old amongst us. Wizened people with years of experience but carrying a frailty with them that requires tender loving care. Their ability to bear pain reduced, their mental and physical faculties diminished, they are as much in need of care as babies are.

Remember how you held your younger ones’ hand as they struggled to learn to walk; well, don’t forget when it is time to hold an elder’s hand as he or she hobble unsteadily with their canes. Don’t forget when it is time to lend them a hand to carry things that are heavier than they can manage. Don’t forget to regale them with anecdotes and stories of daily living just as you tell bedtime stories to your kids. Don’t forget to joke and laugh with them. Don’t forget to rub their feet with balm when they hurt; remember the salve you applied to your children’s hurts? Most of all don’t forget to be gentle with them. Gentleness and patience is all they need, just like little children.

What the old most need is someone to talk to, someone to listen to, some companionship, somebody to give them a hug, somebody to help them carry out their daily chores as need be. Help them cross the road safely, give them your seat in the bus or train, allow them to take your place in the checkout line at the supermarket, slow down your car when you see them crossing the road ahead.

Excuse them if they are sloppy at the dinner table – you thought your child dribbling food was cute, didn’t you? They may not remember things as clearly as when they were younger; help them find their glasses even if they be seated atop their own head. Speak up so they may hear, hold them if they shed a tear. Find time to sit with them amidst your daily rush. What the elderly most dread is loneliness; an emptiness that seems to swallow them. Make time for them.

From today go and check up on your grandparents and your elderly neighbour. Think about how you may contribute to an old age home. Make the aged in and around your life as comfortable as possible. It is all about care. You could brighten up their day just by being there for them. Let us actively add a warm glow to their sunset years. While aging is inevitable, growing old can be an easier process if we make it to be.

Toothless smiles speak the same language as pearly ones. Even if the vision may have diminished, twinkling eyes say the same things always. Let our warmth and care add joyful glee to our aged just as they bring joyful gurgles from our young. Let wrinkles and twinkles mean the same thing.

Dr. Ripal K. Kotak

Think about it… Do we use are education to benefit others or deceive them?

“No, Grandma,” I laughed “It wouldn’t be a party without you.”

I remember my first Christmas party with Grandma. I was just a kid. I remember tearing across town on my bike to visit her on the day my big sister dropped the bomb: “There is no Santa Claus,” she jeered. “Even dummies know that!”

My grandma is not the gushy kind, never was. I fled to her that day because I knew she would be straight with me. I knew Grandma always told the truth, and I knew that the truth always went down a whole lot easier when swallowed with one of her world-famous cinnamon buns.

Grandma was home, and the buns were still warm. Between bites, I told her everything. She was ready for me.

“No Santa Claus!” she snorted. “Ridiculous! Don’t believe it. That rumour has been going around for years, and it makes me mad, plain mad. Now, put on your coat, and let’s go.”

“Go? Go where, Grandma?” I asked. I hadn’t even finished my second cinnamon bun.

“Where” turned out to be Kerby’s General Store, the one store in town that had a little bit of just about everything. As we walked through its doors, Grandma handed me ten dollars. That was a bundle in those days. ‘Take this money,” she said, “and buy something for someone who needs it. I’ll wait for you in the car.” Then she turned and walked out of Kerby’s.

I was only eight years old. I’d often gone shopping with my mother, but never had I shopped for anything all by myself.

The store seemed big and crowded, full of people scrambling to finish their Christmas shopping. For a few moments I just stood there, confused, clutching that ten-dollar bill, wondering what to buy, and who on earth to buy it for.

I thought of everybody I knew: my family, my friends, my neighbours, the kids at school, the people who went to my church. I was just about thought out, when I suddenly thought of Bobbie Decker. He was a kid with bad breath and messy hair, and he sat right behind me in Mrs. Pollock’s grade-two class.

Bobbie Decker didn’t have a coat. I knew that because he never went out for recess during the winter. His mother always wrote a note, telling the teacher that he had a cough, but all we kids knew that Bobbie Decker didn’t have a cough, and he didn’t have a coat. I fingered the ten-dollar bill with growing excitement. I would buy Bobbie Decker a coat.

I settled on a red corduroy one that had a hood to it. It looked real warm, and he would like that.

“Is this a Christmas present for someone?” the lady behind the counter asked kindly, as I laid my ten dollars down.

“Yes,” I replied shyly. “It’s … for Bobbie.”

The nice lady smiled at me. I didn’t get any change, but she put the coat in a bag and wished me a Merry Christmas.

That evening, Grandma helped me wrap the coat in Christmas paper and ribbons, and write, “To Bobbie, From Santa Claus” on it– Grandma said that Santa always insisted on secrecy. Then she drove me over to Bobbie Decker’s house, explaining as we went that I was now and forever officially one of Santa’s helpers.

Grandma parked down the street from Bobbie’s house, and she and I crept noiselessly and hid in the bushes by his front walk Then Grandma gave me a nudge. “All right, Santa Claus,” she whispered, “get going.”

I took a deep breath, dashed for his front door, threw the present down on his step, pounded his doorbell and flew back to the safety of the bushes and Grandma. Together we waited breathlessly in the darkness for the front door to open. Finally it did, and there stood Bobbie.

Forty years haven’t dimmed the thrill of those moments spent shivering, beside my grandma, in Bobbie Decker’s bushes. That night, I realized that those awful rumours about Santa Claus were just what Grandma said they were: ridiculous. Santa was alive and well, and we were on his team.

Carol Laycock

Each December, I vowed to make Christmas a calm and peaceful experience. I had cut back on nonessential obligations extensive card writing, endless baking, decorating, and even overspending. Yet still, I found myself exhausted, unable to appreciate the precious family moments, and of course, the true meaning of Christmas.

My son, Nicholas, was in kindergarten that year. It was an exciting season for a six-year-old. For weeks, he’d been memorizing songs for his school’s “Winter Pageant.”

I didn’t have the heart to tell him I’d be working the night of the production. Unwilling to miss his shining moment, I spoke with his teacher. She assured me there’d be a dress rehearsal the morning of the presentation. All parents unable to attend that evening were welcome to come then. Fortunately, Nicholas seemed happy with the compromise.

So, the morning of the dress rehearsal, I filed in ten minutes early, found a spot on the cafeteria floor and sat down. Around the room, I saw several other parents quietly scampering to their seats. As I waited, the students were led into the room. Each class, accompanied by their teacher, sat cross-legged on the floor. Then each group, one by one, rose to perform their song.

Because the public school system had long stopped referring to the holiday as “Christmas,” I didn’t expect anything other than fun, commercial entertainment – songs of reindeer, Santa Claus, snowflakes and good cheer. So, when my son’s class rose to sing, “Christmas Love,” I was slightly taken aback by its bold title.

Nicholas was aglow, as were all of his classmates, adorned in fuzzy mittens, red sweaters, and bright snowcaps upon their heads. Those in the front row-center stage — held up large letters, one by one, to spell out the title of the song. As the class would sing “C is for Christmas,” a child would hold up the letter C. Then, “H is for Happy,” and on and on, until each child holding up his portion had presented the complete message, “Christmas Love.”

The performance was going smoothly until suddenly we noticed her; a small, quiet, girl in the front row holding the letter “M” upside down — totally unaware her letter “M” appeared as a “W.”

The audience of 1st through 6th graders snickered at this little one’s mistake. But she had no idea they were laughing at her, so she stood tall, proudly holding her “W.” Although many teachers tried to shush the children, the laughter continued until the last letter was raised, and we all saw it together. A hush came over the audience and eyes began to widen. In that instant, we understood the reason we were there, why we celebrated the holiday in the first place, why even in the chaos, there was a purpose for our festivities.

For when the last letter was held high, the message read loud and clear: “C H R I S T W A S L O V E”
And, I believe, He still is. Amazed in His presence… Humbled by His love.

Things are not always the way the seem on face value… relationships bring caring beyond the others imagination!

Very disturbed by this, she called the air hostess. “You obviously do not see it then?” she asked. “You placed me next to a black man.  I did not agree to sit next to someone from such a repugnant group.  Give me an alternative seat.”