Monday, December 20, 1998
Story revives Christmas spirit
BY DEBORAH KENDRICK
The Cincinnati Enquirer
An e-mail from a friend made me worry about myself the other day. He knows about my addiction to Christmas and all its accoutrements, but the questions weren't hitting home this year.
Was I busy watching Miracle on 34th Street for the 25th time? How about It's a Wonderful Life? Was I trimming the tree, baking snowmen or singing carols by an open fire?
I wasn't - and hadn't been - doing any of those things.
It's been a hard year, and the turbulence that life sometimes brings had steered me away from all that tinsel and eggnog and stuff.
For the first time in 20 years, I hadn't felt the need to be present when our selection committee went to the Christmas tree farm. My 10-year-old had to drag me to the basement to haul up the ornaments.
I haven't exactly been racing to the mall to shop or playing my Folksinger's Christmas CD either.
This lifelong lover of Christmas definitely has been out of sync with the season.
I went to hear little blind kids sing Christmas carols. I learned about a Santa who spoke to deaf children in their own beautiful language of hands.
Still, sadness and solemnity seemed to prevail.
Then, it happened. There I was zipping through news articles on my computer as I do every day when the story took charge.
It wasn't anything earth-shattering. Just a little story about a guy in Eastchester, N.Y., who, for some mysterious reason, continues to get letters addressed to Santa Claus.
The letters are mostly from kids who are poor, asking for toys or dinners or shoes to cheer up their households at Christmas. Sometimes the letters are from single moms.
It would be easy to stick them back in the mail carrier's hands or throw them away. But Dave Jacobs figured if kids say you're Santa Claus, you must be. He invites his customers at his small packaging shop to take a letter (some take more) and fulfill the wishes; then he provides the shipping.
Somehow, that little story brought the season back for me. An enormous relief was lifted as I tearfully rejoiced for a minute in the old-fashioned goodness that Christmas can spark.
And now I'm thinking about gingerbread, wrapping presents and trying to find that corny Nat King Cole Christmas tape.
So what does this have to do with disability? First, those of us with disabilities run the gamut of emotion just like everyone else. Some of us are in love with Christmas, some not, and sometimes the most positive beings among us can be knocked off track by death or divorce or disaster.
Secondly, my own brush with adversity reminded me that the worst disability has nothing to do with legs or eyes or ears or hands or voices. The worst disability is the one that diminishes spirit.
It's a devastating disability any time, but one I hope neither you nor I ever has to know at Christmas.
Deborah Kendrick, a Cincinnati free-lance writer, is a nationally recognized advocate for people with disabilities. Write: Deborah Kendrick, Cincinnati Enquirer, 312 Elm St., Cincinnati 45202; e-mail: 71340.473@compuserve.com.
KENDRICK ARCHIVE
