By Courtney Burkholder

Over the years, I have amassed many wonderful holiday memories. All are filled with family, delicious food, Christmas music, gifts from Santa, midnight mass, and all the magic the Christmas season holds. But there is one Christmas memory that stands out in my mind – one, I think, that made a difference in how I view the holidays each year.

Growing up, my family always tried to help the less fortunate at Christmas. We filled shoe boxes with toiletries for the children in Africa; we collected canned goods for the soup kitchen; bought gifts for a child off the Angel Tree at the local bank. We did all the things we were supposed to do, and always with a willing heart.

But one year, my father decided we needed to do things a little differently. “There’s a family that needs our help,” he told us. The father had recently lost his job, the mother was sick and unable to work, and there were three children, the same ages as my siblings and me. “Without us,” Dad explained, “this family won’t be celebrating Christmas this year.”

He handed me a small piece of paper with the family’s names and their ages on it. I recognized the oldest boy’s name immediately. His name was Charles, and he went to junior high with me. I was not friends with Charles. We didn’t have the same friends or any classes together. I’m not sure we had ever really spoken. Charles was one of those people who simply blended into the sea of faces in a busy hallway at school.

“We will be going to the mall this weekend to shop,” Dad said. “I want each of you to think about what we should buy for the child your age. That will be your responsibility.”

The next day, I looked for Charles and spotted him walking into the choir room. I felt a little guilty. We actually did have a class together, and I had never even noticed. All week, I studied Charles from afar. It seemed intrusive that I knew something very personal about his life. But I made it a point to say hello to Charles when we came into the choir room. And I thought about what he might like for Christmas.

If it had been one of my friends, a football or some athletic equipment would have been an easy choice. But Charles was different. As far as I knew, he didn’t play any sports. Basically, the only thing I knew about Charles was that he sang in the choir.

But I knew that in junior high it was important to feel like you looked cool, so that was my focus. I picked out jeans and some Izod shirts and a really good looking sweater. I picked out an OP jacket that all the kids were wearing and some Nike tennis shoes. I got him a handheld video game and a skateboard. I wrapped all of Charles’ gifts myself, and we sent them to Charles’ family anonymously through a mutual acquaintance.

Throughout the holidays, I thought of Charles and wondered if he had liked what I had chosen for him. I thought of his family and his father who was out of work and his sick mother. I hoped they had had a nice Christmas.

When we returned to school, the first person I looked for was Charles. He was wearing his new jeans and sneakers and his OP jacket. My heart swelled. For the first time in my life, I understood what the saying meant, “It is better to give than to receive.”

Parents, this year, find a way to teach your children the true meaning of Christmas. Make it personal. Make it special. Make it life-changing. They’ll never forget it. I promise.