Toys for Tots 2008

Not many would disagree that it's been a difficult year financially. For those of us already struggling, it has been that much more challenging. Christmas came with dread. Fear of disappointment loomed like a dark threatening sky over picnickers in a field. We tried to pretend it was still sunny. We sang Christmas songs. We reluctantly put up our tree. Our smiles were thin and wan.

We could not afford the joy of giving, which was always the best part of celebrating for me.
My children are not toddlers. They no longer expect Santa to magically pop from the fireplace leaving wrapped gifts beneath the tree. And they understand our family circumstances. I had prepared them for the fact that we had no holiday money this year. They knew we were scrambling for food and rent. I also knew that at eleven, my son still held out hope for a miracle of sorts, to bring him some shiny new plastic that might require batteries.

Two weeks before Christmas, I received a phone call saying Toys for Tots would help. I breathed a sigh of relief. For my older children who were over 18 this made no difference, except that they would feel better for their younger siblings. But my 13 and 11 year old children, would not have to return fearfully from their holiday vacation to school, with children brimming with excitement to share their lists of holiday booty and inquiring, "what did you get?".

I was scheduled to bring my kids to a church to pick up their holiday toys. I hoped they were wrapped, since the kids were coming along. I wanted to put gifts under the tree for Christmas morning. Not an uncommon hope for a mom at the holidays.

I have no car. My dear friends drove us to the church. The kids were a little put off about it's store front appearance. But we soldiered on and in. A smiling woman greeted us into the room
with chairs lined in neat rows, and a podium at the front. Slowly the room filled with others hoping to get their toys from the program promising to cheer Christmas.

A pastor entered to greet the group. We expected the usual sermon of gratitude and holiday spirit. Perhaps a bit of encouragement to the parents who felt set back, down trodden, lost and failed. But pastor Cohn launched into a proselytizing speil, filled with shock and awe such as
George Bush had not imparted these last eight years. My 13 year old was incensed. My 11 year old was traumatized.

"You thought you were just gonna walk in here and walk out with TOYS, didn't you?" pastor Cohn exuded. "Well you're not! You will not leave here without taking the Lord into your hearts!" She boomed at us, "you do not have to depend on your baby-daddies for survival! Look to the Lord for help! If you do not accept Jesus into your hearts you will go to HELL! You are no match for the Devil!" She thundered into my young son's face. I was shell shocked, and torn between not wanting to appear rude, and self preservation. And she tore on, shouting about her experience as a high class prostitute in New York, and then accepting Jesus into her heart. We do not have to live the shameful life she did, she said. My 11 year old son's eyes were wide. He didn't know whether to burst into tears or laughter, and sat there instead looking very confused.

We were rescued by our friends who had been waiting anxiously in their car for over an hour of their Christmas Eve, while we were being bashed over the heads with religion. The pastor was deep into the sermon that would continue for another hour. We had to leave without our toys. I hoped I was escaping with my kid's sanity intact.

"I just wanted a couple of toys," my son whimpered. Yes, I'd just wanted a couple of toys for my two youngest kids. Instead, I'd gotten them assaulted with an unexpected and unwelcome experience they won't soon forget. One I wish I could stop my young son from repeating. He is now prone to suddenly jumping up in the air, knees practically at his ears, screaming, "you're goin' ta heeeellll...."

It may take years of therapy to make it stop. Even then I'm sure he'll dream about it. I know I will. As I understand it, Toys for Tots is a program run by the US Marines. Do they advocate this sort of treatment? I was fortunate enough that my children were old enough to understand that their family is broke, their dad totally disabled, work is hard to find, and their mom not the picture of good health. They were grateful just to escape. Even my son agreed calmly to leave without the toys.

So Christmas came without whistles, it came without bells, it came without packages, and toot tooters and HELL! We played games, and sang songs, we opened our small but meaningful gifts; my youngest son bought at his school store, and the babysitting money my daughter used at Dollar Tree, the family gift my oldest son bestowed, great fun in a box. The dollar slinky from WalMart, a package of tatoos, fun socks. Our gifts were few, some hand made with love. Not much, but still, warm smiles and love. The things that truly make our holidays happy.
The very sort of holiday with the spirit of the season at heart. Family, friends, love and care.

Yet, come time for school, I wonder what my kids will say to others armed with cd's, movies, clothes, toys, name brands brandished and bandied... without a harrowing experience sponsored by Toys for Tots?

Planes, Quatrains and Automobiles...

There are many views to a story. The tale of Garrett's graduation/birthday/holiday travels affected many. Many of us endured and enjoyed the journey with Garrett and Kate, in person or by text.

My story began with my departure from my apartment in Charlotte, December 18th at 2a.m. I needed a ride, and my life long friend happened to be going to the airport to volunteer for the USO. I would arrive at the airport three and a half hours before my scheduled take off. You don't need to be at Charlotte's airport three and a half hours in advance of your flight. This is not downstate New York. Evidenced by the fact that at 3a.m. the airport was EMPTY. A few early travelers waited, sleeping or reading. The entrance to concourses and gate access areas were plexi-glass-gated and locked off. Very closed. Darkened even. I decided to sit and read, but it was sultry warm inside, and I found myself standing outside in the dark not quite chill North Carolina air, happily anticipating the sight of snow in Oswego. I hadn't seen snow it two years! What a reunion I had planned. (Yes planned. There's that word again, Garrett.) Snowball fights, snowmen! Frosty white crystals stuck to my eyelashes and melting on my tongue!

Eventually I got bored. I dragged my bags back inside, and planted myself as first on the line for the still closed ticket counter. I copped a squat on the floor and took out my Sony discman, popped in my earbuds, and opened my notebook to doodle. Beyond the boppy 70's tunes I heard Dee's high pitched voice and Long Island accent echoing from down the wide corridor. I picked my head up to call to her. She informed me that there would be 17,000 troops coming through the terminal in 10 minutes, and she hoped the ticket agents were prepared for it. Ha. Before I knew it, I was standing with my friend and another USO volunteer, talking about helping a few seemingly lost young soldiers. Ironically, three people from West Babylon, New York, trying to get Charlotteans "to get a move on." We decided that if need be, the three New Yorkers could handle anything here. But the counters didn't open till 5a.m. And I got my bag checked and dragged myself through security toward the concourse for a quick breakfast sandwich and coffee before boarding my plane to JFK.

The flight to JFK was unremarkable. I was exhausted. I was uncharacteristically rude. The friendly man in the seat next to me said hello. I smiled thinly and closed my eyes. When we deplaned I found that he was JetBlue personnel. Oooops. I wished him a Happy Holiday without eye contact. I kept an ear out for info on the approaching winter storm with slowly increasing concern about others traveling to Garrett's graduation.
When I landed in Syracuse, I went in search of Garrett's friend Zac who was nice enough to be picking me up. I searched the crowd for a face I only knew through Facebook, or for a shirt with Mu Beta Psi letters.
BINGO! Zac's face and Jenny wearing letters. Great kids! Smart kids! Wonderful kids! I talked nervously the entire way to their house.

And there was SNOW! Wonderful, delicious, beautiful, dangerous and frustrating, snow! I didn't get to play in it. No one else wanted to play. I did get to eat some. And slide in it. Sometimes on purpose.

Everyone but Kate made it into Syracuse. This was horribly sad, because I knew she was the person Garrett wanted there most. He was inconsolable. I didn't even try. I made myself happy with the fact that everyone was safe wherever they were. Then my flight out of Syracuse was delayed. And that meant I would miss my connecting flight back to Charlotte. They put me on the same flight the next day out of JFK. By happy accident, I would wind up on the same flight back to JFK as my sister, Ama. I'd have to spend the night at her house. Yet another unexpected happy gift! More family time!

We hitched a ride to the airport and would spend 5 hours of quality time together waiting for our delayed (please Lord don't be cancelled) flight out. We camped out on the most comfortable couches we could find. Sprawled among our bags, newspaper, books, laptop, water bottles and a bag of Fritos, we seemed like a bad movie montage in my mind. Clip one: we sat side by side, peering into the screen of my laptop. Clip two: Ama sitting crosslegged reading and I stretched out and covered with my cloak, holding USA Today up in the air over my face to read. Clip three: Ama leaned against wall, day-planner on chest and pen in mouth, and I upside down on bench with legs up the wall, disc man on, feet wagging to music. And on we went changing positions, talking, checking the flight board, snapshots in my mind of the two of us. Both of us glad all the children made it out (of Syracuse).

At long last we boarded JetBlue flight 1085 to JFK. I was at the window. Ama sat next to me. And an overly chatty teenager filled with holiday cheer which we did not share was sitting in the aisle seat. Did I mention that on this trip I posessed a heretofore unknown quantity of rudeness and decidedly unfriendliness? Ama and I both smiled at the teen sardonically, and closed our eyes. The plan was to take the train back to Merrick from JFK. But my amazing nephew, Ben rescued us and drove us home by way of lost in Queens. I slept. We arrived at their house and went to bed around 1a.m. Sleep was a valuable and sought after commodity now. I fell alseep. Hard. If it wasn't sleep I fell into, I would have hurt myself.

At 5:30a.m. my drunk ass friends back in Charlotte were still expecting me, because they were too drunk to understand that I wouldn't be home till the next evening at 5p.m. My celly was blowing up and I startled awake, clawing at the air, searching for a sense of my surroundings and my phone. Ama was going to reach through the phone and strangle whomever she grabbed there. Later in the morning Ama informed me that it wasn't the only call during our sleep and that infact I'd been on the phone with JetBlue at approximately 2a.m. I blinked.

I was? I spoke with someone?

Funny, I hadn't been drinking. Yet there was no recollection of this call. Or the fact that my next flight out of New York was now cancelled. Ha! I was stuck in New York for another two days! Lucky for me I was with family where I could get comfy and sleep and be fed. So my vacation was further extended, and I unexpectedly visited with people I missed, and wouldn't see again for sometime. Bonus.
And I made it home for Christmas. In all things there is balance. Some delays cause grief and frustration. Some bring a measure of joy. I was on the lucky end this time. But tragedy bears comedy, and my story isn't nearly as entertaining as Garrett's and Kate's. Poor babies.

I encourage you to read their blogs: http://lifeisapoeticnarrative.blogspot.com/

http://73hgreat.blogspot.com