This time of year is busy around The Post as most of the staff is working on shortened deadlines and extra days off for the holidays.
We fly from one assignment to another trying to gather as much news as we can in the shortened days. We are also busy being Santa’s helpers.
Santa gets a lot of mail at the North Pole and he isn’t always able to read it all himself.
That’s where we help the jolly old elf out and collect the letters from kindergarteners through 6th-graders in our community’s schools. We bring the letters back to The Post and everyone in the office types them so we can print them for the big guy to read as he makes his way through our community on Christmas Eve.
We print all those letters to Santa in a special section of the newspaper and wait for him to stop by the office for a visit. We don’t leave and cookies and milk, we set aside a Coke and a paper with the Santa Letters for him.
It’s always fun to read what the children in our community want for Christmas and some of the things they write. Periodically throughout the day you’ll hear someone read one aloud to no one in particular. Some letters pull at the heartstrings.
All that typing took me back to my childhood and an especially difficult Christmas for my family. I was about 9-years-old and some of the details are fuzzy. My parents were lacking financially and beans were on the menu every night. As children my brothers and I were not fully aware of the struggle, but were not expecting much around the tree.
My parents told us not to be disappointed that Christmas and to just be thankful that we were all together. To help ease the pain of no presents, they took us to the local Goodwill store to visit some of the things we couldn’t afford or to buy some gently used clothing, I can’t remember.
Boys being boys, my brothers and I were drawn to three worn out bicycles. We rode them around the store and after a few minutes we were whisked away back to the homestead.
I woke up early Christmas morning and rubbing sleep out my eyes was shocked to see the most beautiful bikes under the tree, the very same ones we had been riding a few days earlier.
Now we had some very good Christmas’ growing up and there were lots and lots of presents. However I cannot recall any of those with the clarity I can of the Goodwill Christmas.
I learned a very important lesson that year; only it didn’t sink in until time had faded many of my childhood memories. During a difficult time in my parents’ lives they made sacrifices so their children could have a little joy that holiday. They gave when they didn’t have it and whenever I think about my childhood that is the first memory that comes to mind. Looking at old photographs those bikes were ugly, but not in my memories.
I hope that Santa delivers a very Merry Christmas to all of you.
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Paul Barry is the managing editor and can be reached by email at paul.barry@vicksburgpost.com or by phone at 601-636-4545 ext. 123.