“tis better to give than receive…”

Lionel Llewellyn | Dec 21, 2016

The story you are about to read is true. No names have been changed to protect anyone’s privacy. It reveals a truth that has lasting effects.

As a newly-divorced father of three girls ages 14, 12 and 3, living in a small town of barely 4,000, I was fretting over how I would financially make our first Christmas as a new family unit a happy one. Christmas day beginning at noon, the girls would spend the holiday with their mother; but how do I make Christmas Eve a joyful time? Bribing them by saying: “how many children get to have TWO Christmases” seemed rather lame.

I purchased a “Charlie Brown” tree a few days earlier and we trimmed the tree in our best tradition: a few ornaments purchased at the local hardware store for under $3.00; zoo animals collected over the years; two rows of mini-lights, one that twinkled; several strings of fresh-popped popcorn and much more popcorn in our collective tummies; and tinsel, lots of silvery, shiny tinsel.

No presents were under the tree, just a special tree blanket left over from my marriage. The girls knew Santa always came on Christmas Eve, after I had gone to bed. They knew because I was as surprised as the girls were on early Christmas morns, seeing the small bounty beneath the decorated fir.

This particular December 23, I felt rather depressed about facing a Christmas without a mother and a wife. Appropriate music was filling our home during the afternoon, and snow fell in that storybook way, light, fluffy and gentle. The Briard dog, and cats, curled up in their favorite spots, doing what they did every day, enjoying their worry-free lives. One of my daughters suggested we should go caroling. And a tradition was started.

Not wanting to disturb people during their suppers, a little after 7 pm. we donned our winter togs, found some sheet music, leashed up the dog and tromped across the kneehigh snow (we were not aware of the caroling etiquette of using the sidewalks, this was our first time!) to John and Katie’s house next door.

John was the head of the local High School’s History department and his white/gray beard, balding pate and deep gravelly voice brought instant respect from the students. But we knew him like Wilson from “Home Improvement”! None of my daughters had the courage to knock on the door, so I took the lead and rapped firmly. John was very surprised to see the family outside his home and I told him we wanted to sing a carol for him. His wife Katie joined him wearing a bulky, wool sweater protected by a well-stained apron and our little choir broke out into song; tentatively at first, and then full throttle by the last chorus.

The smiles from Katie and John grew larger with each verse. I could see John’s eyes roving back and forth over my daughters and the gruff teacher melted away to a satisfied senior, relishing a rare moment. Four hands clapped in genuine appreciation as my daughters and I turned to go, happily shouting “Merry Christmas”. We sang at three more houses before returning home to hot chocolate and flannel pjs.

The girls sat around the kitchen table, with bright red cheeks, hands clasping their warm mugs. They chatted excitedly about the faces of the folks they had just entertained. The conversation was animated, happy and joyous. I noticed the reaction of the people we had just sung for. They, too, had been given an unexpected gift: a gift of time, a gift of song and a gift of peace.

In that moment I realized that what my parents had tried to instill in me as a young boy, had come full circle. In a strange, but simple way, the gift of giving was the greater gift. Our caroling tradition continued for another 10 years. The original circle of four grew to 22 adults and children. At reunions the talk invariably recounts ‘the time when the Llewellyns caroled around the neighborhood.’

No financial burden; no emotional stress; no “keeping up with the Joneses” anxiety. Laughter, song, comraderie and love! Christmas memories, that’ll snap you out of a depressing funk!