Hello, Neighbor
I’m annoyed that the Christmas season doesn’t feel as thrilling as it once did.
For some years, I have been attempting to understand it.
I’m not talking about the religious side of things, or what the true meaning of Christmas is, as my buddy Bishop O Hara puts it, before he criticizes me.
I’m referring to all the excitement surrounding Jesus’ birthday.
Too much labor, perhaps? Fear of a country experiencing political turmoil? The aftermath of the pandemic? My old age?
Then it dawned on me. I miss the crazy shopping frenzy and the hellish hunt for that kid’s toy that’s always sold out. It was the product that went viral in October and sold out in December.
Think of the 1970s Cabbage Patch Kids. Teddy Ruxpin and Transformers in the 1980s. Power Rangers, Tamagotchis, Nintendo 64, and Tickle Me Elmo from the 1990s.
I have cold sweats just thinking about the tiresome hunt for a Transformer Dinosaur Robot Action Figure. However, it added excitement and fun to the season.
I let my fingers do all of the shopping on my MacBook Air today.
Naturally, things weren’t like that when I was younger. The Academy of St. Dorothy’s geography class taught me what I knew about Amazon.
All of this is brought to mind by a unique letter that I have treasured for many years. It was sent to me by Mary Smith’s family in December 1979.
Mary’s last name was unknown to me. All I knew about Mary was that she owned a small store selling almost everything in a small home on Midland Avenue in Midland Beach.
When I was in my late 50s, Mary was always there to help tiny kids like me purchase Mom and Dad a Christmas present with the few dollars we had saved.
In 1979, while working as a copy editor at the Advance, I wrote a story about Mary’s generosity that was featured in a special section dedicated to Christmas gift guides.
The letter started, “It was nice of you to remember.”Writing down your recollections of Mary’s in Midland Beach was considerate of you.
Mary’s narrative was then told in the letter.
Mary’s story is a touching one for any Christmas season, regardless of whether you’re one of the few people who remembers her. So let me tell you…
The letter starts with Mary Smith opening her store soon after her mother passed away.Before then she had a career with the NYC Department of Parks. She was the first woman to hold her position in the forestry section. She outscored her male counterparts on the Civil Service test … and she did equally well on the physical test …
Mary worked for Parks for 20 years before she left to care for her sick mom.
To help pay the bills, Mary sold plants and flowers for Easter and Mother s Day,her family remembered.Later she added gift items for Christmas, and eventually stayed open year-round. All the while stocking the shelves with more and more items … she couldn t say no to a salesman.
It wasn t too long before the tiny shop was bursting at the seams …
She put in long days and part of the night for a few dollars … in the poorly lighted shop. She would spend an inordinate amount of time helping her young customers select just the right mix of candy or novelty items that a quarter could buy …
The years came and went, and kids came and went; but Mary stayed, perhaps longer than she should have, huddled by a small space heater on many a cold winter day. Her health failed and she could no longer run the shop nor care for her house. She stayed with her sister, who took care of her.
Mary never admitted that the move was anything but temporary, and on occasion she would go back to the house or the shop for a few hours to try to straighten out some things.
Mary passed away in April 1979 eight months before Christmas. She never got to read the recollections of a little kid who never forgot her.
We think of her often, especially at Christmastime, and the way things used to be,her family wrote.
I, too, think of Mary. Often. Her kindness, her thoughtfulness, her gentle good will …
The way things used to be.
Oh by the way:Wishing our neighbors who celebrate, the Merriest Christmas, and every neighbor, a 2025 filled with all good things.
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