Welcome to my Christmas Carol

Welcome to My Christmas Carol!

Fred shuffled about in the shanty he had commandeered in early fall. Not sure of the previous owner, he was grateful to be under a roof, albeit one that leaked.

Oh, well, he thought, ’tis the Holy season and I have a holey roof!

It was the day before Christmas Eve and people were shopping, for last minute bargains for presents.

It’s just a big sham! Fred thought, Decorating with a Christmas tree, red and green decorations, tinsel, candles and even Santa Claus and his reindeer. My stars, what are people trying to prove?

Fred had lived his entire life on the edge of poverty. His father had deserted the family and his mother had scratched to feed and care for four children. He well remembered when there was little or nothing in the house to eat and someone or the church had brought some of their meager provisions. Usually what they were afraid to eat was what he thought.

But more times than not, those who brought were those who had barely more than his family. The big people always wanted to give to the big charities so they would get their names in the paper for their big gifts. So his family had to depend on those who had little to spare.

The big churches were the same. They’d give a big meal and invite everyone in four counties to come. But that was just one meal without any help for the next or the next meal. Had they given them what the one meal cost for their family, his mother could have fed them for a week.

But Fred had done pretty good in life, even though he was never rich. He’d had a good job that paid him well until hard times came. A downturn in the economy, then a streak of bad luck when he became ill and one by one he saw all his reserves dwindle away. First it was the little nest egg he had saved for emeregencies, then his retirement funds. Finally everything he had was gone, sold to pay for his healthcare and sustience till he was without a home or job.

The only thing to turn to was the street. He had survived in hard times and he’d survive again and with just a little luck, he’d get back on his feet. That was eleven years ago and the street was now home. He was comfortable with the life of a street person.

Well, it was now time to go, because Fred knew this was the best time for a handout. Over the years, he’d learned how to scam big time. Putting on his ragged coat and gloves, he donned an old cap and trudged into the winter weather as snow began falling.

He headed to his first mark, St. Michael’s church. He referred to it as St. Michael’s Church of Perpetual Handouts, because the minister, an older man, couldn’t resist giving whatever he had. Coming into the church, it was filled with people looking for help. Though he hated to stand in line, he would because he wanted warmer clothing.

Finally he was at the Reverend’s desk and leaned in close and whispered, “Some of these people are just scammers.”

“Oh, really,” replied the minister.

“Several have jobs and government checks. They don’t depend on the kindness of other’s like me,” he said dramatically.

“And what will you be needing today?” asked the minister.

“A coat and some gloves, or maybe a blanket. Food if you got it.”

“Yes, we can help you,” he said stepping into the next room.

Returning, he said, “Would you like to leave those old items for us to dispose of?”

“Thank you, no; I’ll use them for the cracks in my room.”

Dropping the new things at his shack, he headed to a street mission. They always had plenty of food and other gifts, but when he got there, they had none but gave him some fruit and a bowl of soup.

There was one more day, so he headed home. On the way, he checked the alleys, looking for anything to use or trade. He found a few items, but nothing of significant value. However, he bumped into Isaiah, on the same mission. Isaiah’s coat had been stolen.

“I might have one for trading. What you got?” asked Fred.

“Some wine,” he said with a smile.

Fred had heard this before. It was probably more water than wine.

“Where’d you get it?” he asked.

“Stole it. I just took one little pull off’n it. Almost full,” he said.

“Let me see,” said Fred reaching toward the bottle.

The man passed it to him and Fred intended to take a big slug, but Isaiah grabbed it before he could taste much.

“It’s for trade, not a free drink,” he said sternly.

Not bad, mused Fred, Not weakened down much.

They went to Fred’s shack and made the trade, and then the man asked if he had anything else to trade, because he could get more wine. When Fred asked where, he just smiled.

That night, Fred was awakened by a group caroling that had spotted his shack. A bunch of do-gooders come to salve their guilt, Fred thought, but accepted the cookies and milk along with gifts of soap, razor and shampoo. They hung mistletoe over his door, but no one kissed him when he stood under it.

He went back to sleep, but in the early hours of the morning, was awakened abruptly by someone in his shack. He shouted, but was struck hard on the head and finally woke up mid morning. Rubbing his eyes and head, he looked around and saw the stuff he had worked to get had been taken. They took his food, too. This was going to be a bleak Christmas.

Grabbing his old coat and gloves, he headed to St. Michael’s hoping there was still something left for him. The Reverend opened the door and Fred told his sad tale of being robbed. Could he get another coat, gloves and food?

But this was Christmas Eve and the church had exhausted their supplies on the 23rd, and church services were all day today. The Reverend invited him to attend the special services, but he said, “No, he needed to see if he could find some more clothes and food.”

Leaving, he went to the mission. They, like the church, had given away everything but invited him back the next day for a turkey dinner. Next, he tried the community center. They had decorated to look like Santa’s workshop at the North Pole complete with colored lights. The volunteers at the center were dressed like elves and served non-alcoholic eggnog. What a waste, Fred thought, but they gave him a blanket, a warm coat, and their last cans of food. He moved to the fireplace to warm himself before heading back to his shack, but as he was about to leave, a teenager came over to the fireplace. He had come looking for food and warmer clothing for he and his mother. Fred instinctively pushed his gifts behind him so the young man would not notice what he had. He was trying to leave, but he could not forget the young man, with an older mother hungry and cold at home. Finally he gave his things to the young man with a “Merry Christmas,” and he was again empty-handed.

As he headed back to his shack he stopped by the nativity at the church. The star shown brightly and the smell of fresh pine scent was strong and pervasive from the pine branches. Mary and Joseph, members of St Michael’s, looked down on baby Jesus.

Standing there, for the first time he began to think about the meaning of all this, and then he noticed the angel.

“Fred Gruber,” she said, “What do you want this Christmas Eve?”

He wanted to say, “How do you know my name?” Instead he heard himself say, “I want peace.” No coat, no gloves, not even his stuff that was stolen. And for the first time without understanding why, he was at peace.