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A Different Christmas Poem
The embers glowed softly, and in their dim light,
I gazed round the room and I cherished
the sight.
My wife was asleep, her head on my chest,
My daughter beside me, angelic in rest.
Outside the snow fell,
a blanket of white,
Transforming the yard to a winter delight.
The sparkling lights in the tree I believe,
Completed
the magic that was Christmas Eve.
My eyelids were heavy, my breathing was deep,
Secure and surrounded by love I would sleep.
In perfect
contentment, or so it would seem,
So I slumbered, perhaps I started to dream.
The sound wasn't loud, and it wasn't too near,
But I opened my eyes when it tickled my ear.
Perhaps
just a cough, I didn't quite know,
Then the Sure sound of footsteps outside in the snow.
My soul gave a tremble, I
struggled to hear,
And I crept to the door just to see who was near.
Standing out in the cold and the dark of the night,
A
lone figure stood, his face weary and tight.
A soldier, I puzzled, some twenty years old,
Perhaps a Marine, huddled here in the cold.
Alone in
the dark, he looked up and smiled,
Standing watch over me, and my wife and my child.
"What are you doing?" I asked without
fear,
"Come in this moment, it's freezing out here!
Put down your pack, brush the snow from your sleeve,
You should
be at home on a cold Christmas Eve!"
For barely a moment I saw his eyes shift,
Away from the cold and the snow blown in drifts..
To the
window that danced with a warm fire's light
Then he sighed and he said "Its really all right,
I'm out here by choice.
I'm here every night."
"It's my duty to stand at the front of the line,
That separates you from the darkest of times.
No
one had to ask or beg or implore me,
I'm proud to stand here like my fathers before me.
My Gramps died at 'Pearl on
a day in December,"
Then he sighed, "That's a Christmas 'Gram always remembers."
My dad stood his watch in the jungles
of 'Nam',
And now it is my turn and so, here I am.
I've not seen my own son in more than a while,
But my wife sends
me pictures, he's sure got her smile.
Then he bent and he carefully pulled from his bag,
The red, white, and blue... An American flag.
I
can live through the cold and the being alone,
Away from my family, my house and my home.
I can stand at my post through
the rain and the sleet,
I can sleep in a foxhole with little to eat.
I can carry the weight of killing another,
Or
lay down my life with my sister and brother..
Who stand at the front against any and all,
To ensure for all time that
this flag will not fall."
"So go back inside," he said, "harbor no fright,
Your family is waiting and I'll be all right."
"But
isn't there something I can do, at the least,
"Give you money," I asked, "or prepare you a feast?
It seems all too little
for all that you've done,
For being away from your wife and your son."
Then his eye welled a tear that held no regret,
"Just
tell us you love us, and never forget.
To fight for our rights back at home while we're gone,
To stand your own watch,
no matter how long.
For when we come home, either standing or dead,
To know you remember we fought and we bled.
Is
payment enough, and with that we will trust,
That we mattered to you as you mattered to us."
Origin of Summer and Winter
The chief had a daughter named Co-chin who was the wife of
Shakok, the Spirit of Winter. After he came to live with the people,
the seasons grew colder and colder. Snow and ice stayed longer each
year. Corn no longer matured. The people soon had to live on cactus
leaves and other wild plants.
One day Co-chin went out to gather cactus leaves and burn off the
thorns so she could carry them home for food. She was eating a singed
leaf when she saw a young man coming toward her. He wore a yellow shirt
woven of corn silk, a belt, and a tall pointed hat; green leggings made
of green moss that grows near springs and ponds; and moccasins
beautifully embroidered with flowers and butterflies.
In his hand, he carried an ear of green corn with which he saluted her.
She returned the salute with her cactus leaf. He asked, 'What are you
eating?' She told him, 'Our people are starving because no corn will
grow, and we are compelled to live on these cactus leaves.'
'Here, eat this ear of corn, and I will go bring you an armful for you
to take home with you,' said the young man. He left and quickly
disappeared from sight, going south. In a very short time, however, he
returned, bringing a large bundle of green corn that he laid at her
feet.
'Where did you find so much corn?' Co-chin asked.
'I brought it from my home far to the south,' he replied. 'There the corn grows abundantly and flowers
bloom all year.'
'Oh, how I would like to see your lovely country. Will you take me with you to your home?'
she asked.
'Your husband, Shakok, the Spirit of Winter, would be angry if I should take you away,' he
said.
'But I do not love him, he is so cold. Ever since he came to our
village, no corn has grown, no flowers have bloomed. The people are
compelled to live on these prickly pear leaves,' she said.
'Well,' he said. 'Take this bundle of corn with you. Then come tomorrow
and I will bring you more. I will meet you here.' He said good-bye and
left for his home in the south.
When she arrived home, her father and mother were wonderfully surprised
with the corn. Co-chin described in detail the young man and where he
was from. She would go back the next day to get more corn from him, as
he asked her to meet him there, and he would accompany her home.
'It is Miochin,'
said her father.
'It is Miochin,' said her mother. 'Bring him home with you.'
The next day, Co-chin went to the place and met Miochin, for he really
was Miochin, the Spirit of Summer. He was waiting for her and had
brought big bundles of corn.
Between them, they carried the corn to the village. There was enough to
feed all of the people. Miochin was welcome at the home of the Chief.
In the evening, as was his custom, Shakok, the Spirit of Winter and
Co-chin's husband, returned from the north. All day he had been playing
with the north wind, snow, sleet, and hail.
Upon reaching the village, he knew Miochin must be there and called out
to him, 'Ha, Miochin, are you here?' Miochin came out to meet him. 'Ha,
Miochin, now I will destroy you.'
'Ha, Shakok, I will destroy you,' replied Miochin, advancing toward
him, melting the snow and hail and turning the fierce wind into a
summer breeze. The icicles dropped off and Shakok's clothing was
revealed to be made of dry, bleached rushes.
Shakok said, 'I will not fight you now, but will meet you here in four
days and fight you till one of us is beaten. The victor will win
Co-chin.'
Shakok left in a rage, as the wind roared and shook the walls of White
City. But the people were warm in their houses because Miochin was
there. The next day he left for his own home in the south to make
preparations to meet Shakok in combat.
First, he sent an eagle to his friend Yat-Moot, who lived in the west,
asking him to come help him in his fight with Shakok. Second, he called
all the birds, insects, and four-legged animals that live in summer
lands to help him. The bat was his advance guard and shield, as his
tough skin could best withstand the sleet and hail that Shakok would
throw at him.
On the third day Yat-Moot kindled his fires. Big black clouds of smoke
rolled up from the south and covered the sky.
Shakok was in the north and called to him all the winter birds and
four-legged animals of winter lands to come and help him. The magpie
was his shield and advance guard.
On the fourth morning, the two enemies could be seen rapidly
approaching the village. In the north, black storm clouds of winter
with snow, sleet, and hail brought Shakok to the battle. In the south,
Yat-Moot piled more wood on his fires and great puffs of steam and
smoke arose and formed massive clouds. They were bringing Miochin, the
Spirit of Summer, to the battlefront. All of his animals were blackened
from the smoke. Forked blazes of lightning shot forth from the clouds.
At last the combatants reached the village. Flashes from the clouds
singed the hair and feathers of Shakok's animals and birds. Shakok and
Miochin were now close together. Shakok threw snow, sleet, and hail
that hissed through the air of a blinding storm. Yat-Moot's fires and
smoke melted Shakok's weapons, and he was forced to fall back. Finally
he called a truce. Miochin agreed, and the winds stopped, and snow and
rain ceased falling.
Shakok said, 'I am defeated, you are the winner. Co-chin is now yours forever.'
Then the men each agreed to rule one-half of the year, Shakok for
winter and Miochin for summer, and that neither would trouble the other
thereafter. That is why we have a cold season for one-half of the year,
and a warm season for the other.
The Legend Of The Christmas Scout
This is the legend of the Christmas Scout. It was told me first by a
small boy whose faith in the story was absolute. He showed me a toy
airplane and said emphatically that it came from the Christmas Scout.
The Christmas Scout was returning on Christmas Eve from a party of his
relatives where he had received all his gifts. He had a sled full of
presents, just the things he had been hoping for - for although it was
cold, he was warm because he was wearing the new plaid jacket for which
he had been hinting. It was his favorite gift. In spite of everything,
he was not happy. This was because it was to be his first Christmas
without his brother who had, during the year, been the tragic victim of
a reckless driver. His brother had been a good Scout and a fine example
to him. The Christmas Scout had taken a short cut through the Flats
hoping he might meet his patrol leader who lived there with his widowed
mother. This was a section of town in which many of the poor lived. His
patrol leader, one of the best Scouts in the troop, had to work hard.
Not that the Christmas Scout was rich. His family was just a step above
the Flats.
As he hiked down the street, the Christmas Scout caught glimpses of the
trees and decorations in many of the homes. He had no intention of
prying but suddenly in one glimpse, he had seen a shabby room with two
limp stockings hanging above an empty fireplace and a woman sitting
near them weeping. The stockings reminded him of the way he and his
brother had always hung theirs side by side. But they had always found
them, next morning, full to brimming. Then he remembered that he had
not done his Good Turn for the day.
He knocked at the door. ‘'Yes?" the sad voice of the woman
replied. "May I come in? I am a Scout." "You are very welcome," she
said, "but I cannot help you. I have nothing for my own
children." "That is why I am here," he replied. "You are to
choose whatever you need from this sled." "May God bless you!" she
answered gratefully. “My little boys will be very happy.”
She took some candies and a game, a toy airplane and a puzzle. Then, as
she took the new official flashlight, the Scout almost cried out, but
he did not. He saw that the stockings were full and turned to go.
"Won't you tell me your name?" she asked. "Just call me the Christmas
Scout,” he replied.
He was glad to have done the Good Turn, but he was not really any
happier. He had seen that his sorrow was not the only sorrow in the
world and before he got out of the Flats that night, he had given the
remainder of his toys away. The plaid jacket had gone to a boy who had
none at all. He trudged homeward, cold and disconsolate. He had
given his presents away and he could think of no explanation he could
give his family that would seem reasonable. He wondered how he could
make them understand. His parents tried to be patient. "But Son, I
don't see how you could have been so foolish," his mother said. His
father was firm, "You made your choice, Son. You know we cannot afford
to give you any more presents." The Christmas Scout realized that he
seemed foolish in the eyes of his parents and even, to a degree in his
own. His brother gone, his family disappointed, he suddenly felt
dreadfully alone. He had not thought to be rewarded for his generosity,
for in the wisdom of his young life, he knew that a good deed should
always be is own reward. It would be tarnished otherwise. He did not
want the gifts back. He thought of his brother and sobbed himself to
sleep.
The next morning he found his parents listening to a Christmas program
on T.V. Then the announcer spoke. "Merry Christmas everybody! The
nicest Christmas story we have this morning comes from the Flats. It
appears that a crippled boy down there has a new sled this morning,
another youngster has a fine plaid jacket and several families have
reported that their children have been made happy by the visitation of
a Boy Scout who gave no name but simply referred to himself as the
Christmas Scout. The boy with the jacket declares that the Scout gave
it off his own back. No one can identify him, but the children of the
Flats are claiming that the Christmas Scout was a personal
representative of old Santa Claus himself."
The Christmas Scout felt his father's arms go around his shoulders and
he saw his mother smiling at him through her tears. "We are proud of
you, son.” The Christmas Scout caught his breath. "Mother,
Father!" he cried. "This is a happy Christmas after all!"
The carols came over the air again filling the room with music. "And praises sing to God the King, and peace
to men on earth."
The Reluctant Den Leader
By Francoise Inman
Running late again, I rushed into the Cub
Scouts parents' meeting. With windblown hair, as a result of my
brief dash from the car to the church basement, I hurriedly took a
seat, noting the surplus of empty chairs. At least, I wasn't the
only one running behind, I told myself with ample relief.
The Cubmaster checked his watch, and with a
barely audible sigh, started the meeting. I continued to look
around, stunned to count only five or six other parents present,
despite the fact that our pack had at least fifty boys. As the
Cubmaster explained the challenges that the group faced in the coming
year, he pointed out that the empty chairs, which should have been
filled with parent volunteers, were our biggest obstacles.
Several of the dens were lacking parent
leaders and with the summer coming to a close, it became unlikely that
someone would step in and commit an entire year of Tuesday nights to
help guide a group of young boys through the requirements needed to
earn their badges.
As he spoke, I felt a rising sense of guilt
mounting within me. After all, even I had tried to evade helping
out with the Tiger Cubs the previous year. Wasn't I looking
forward to leaving my seven-year-old in the care of a competent adult
while I ran errands? Wasn't I the one who conveniently "forgot"
to bake a couple of cakes for the annual fund-raiser and found excuses
not to man the yard sale table? I quickly came to realize that
the problem wasn't just about empty chairs; it was also about people
like me who were unwilling to sacrifice some of their time to a worthy
cause.
Before I could change my mind, I raised my
hand to volunteer as den leader to guide the Wolf den through its first
formal year of scouting. Although I knew next to nothing about
teaching a group of noisy, exuberant and restless second-graders, I was
determined to make it work.
My first den meeting was as chaotic and noisy
as the first day of a county fair. The boys were too excited to
sit still. The craft I had chosen was too complicated and ran
over the allotted time. I spent a great deal of my time
apologizing to the parents for my ineptitude as a den leader.
What have I gotten myself into? I wondered, composing a letter of
resignation in my head.
Much to my surprise, the boys actually enjoyed
themselves. They even invited their friends to join our den, and
before long, our ranks swelled from four boys to ten. My son was
thrilled to have his mom as den leader; it gave him bragging rights on
the playground. I was having as much fun as the boys and had no
idea that I'd be so popular.
As I walked through the school's parking lot,
it was rare when one of "my" boys didn't call out a greeting or stop me
for a quick hug and a story to share. It almost became a contest
among them to see who would spot me first. They would talk with
me about the little things going on in their lives - whether it was a
loose tooth ready to wiggle its way out or a special event coming
up. They'd tell me about their homework and their latest
Playstation victories. They'd complain about little brothers,
sisters and neighborhood bullies. I'd ruffle their hair, ask
questions and listen to their answers before hugging them as they
scampered back to their teachers or parents.
As I watched them dash away with that curious
half-run, half-skip gait that little boys are notorious for, I thought
of the empty chairs at that meeting and those who would never know this
joy. I thought of those who wouldn't receive quick, warm hugs
from little boys with peanut-butter breath, and those who would miss
out on gap-toothed smiles and long-winded stories full of little joys
and mini-tragedies. After all, I gave those boys only one hour of
my time every week, but they rewarded me with their hearts.
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