Sharing the spirit: a gift of treasured Christmas memories

It was the winter of 1950. That was the last Christmas my family enjoyed in Southern Indiana, before we moved to the sunny south. And, being the tender age of 6, it was the first Christmas that I can recall.

My mother's father, Grandfather Binford, was the founder of what was then called "The Binford Brotherhood." The brotherhood was a church-related men's organization that met regularly and performed many fantastic philanthropic deeds in and around the city of New Albany, Ind. And, at Christmas time the brotherhood held a magnificent dinner for all its members and their families.

They transformed the city golf club into an enchanting Christmas wonderland. It looked to me as if we had landed smack-dab in Santa's North Pole banquet hall.

The hall was ringed with lights and holiday garlands. There was a roaring fire in the gilded fireplace, where all the stockings were carefully hung. Real chestnuts were being roasted by a rotund man dressed in an elfish outfit and inside the hall there stood the largest Christmas tree I'd ever seen. The delightful smells of the holiday season permeated throughout -spilling out of the kitchen and into the dining hall.

We, the kids and grandkids of the brotherhood memberswere seated at our own dinner table. But we were not the honored guests. Santa sat upon what can only be described as a throne, and he hooted his distinctive Ho! Ho! Ho! But as impressive as Father Christmas was to all us kids, he also was not the honored guest.

At the table of honor sat New Albany's military veterans: our men and woman who had served our country in the past two World Wars. Many had fought in Europe and some in the Pacific. There was even one, very young, Marine. He was home on leave and was soon to be shipped overseas to fight in the Korean conflict. These vets were the honored guests of The Binford Brotherhood, and we kids sat in awe of their collective majesty.

My father also sat at the head table. I was very proud of him and all the other veterans that had gone in harm's way and successfully defeated our country's sworn enemies. Seated dead center at the head table sat a veteran of World War I. He had served with Gen. Douglas MacArthur's storied Rainbow Division during the Muse Argon campaign.

Suddenly my grandfather rose and introduced all the honored veterans to us, the assembled guests. Then, very slowly, the old Great War veteran rose to his feet. He was dressed in a somewhat tattered brown uniform and sported a battered campaign hat. He rendered a precise military salute, and then he began to speak.

"I want to welcome you all to this gathering of this brotherhood of American Eagles," he commenced. "When I was a young boy, we held the idea of Christmas within our hearts. We children never forgot the meaning of the word 'Christmas.' We all were aware that the Christmas gifts we received simply represented the gifts that were offered to a small baby lying quietly in the Bethlehem manger. We children knew that the holiday we called Christmas was not about gifts, it was about the birth of our savior and, the origin of our blessed religion. A religion, I might add, that has changed the world mightily.

"I have seen war, my friends, and I can tell you that my fellow soldiers, both past and present, have willingly offered up their lives for you, and your children, and your children's children. Friends, we did this in order that...," he paused and pointed directly at us kids, "these children might safely live their lives with honor, dignity and in freedom."

"Last week at Sunday school," the old vet noted, "one young whippersnapper stated that, unlike the old Bible days, there were no miracles to be seen. And I knew that I had to challenge that erroneous notion.

"In France, and on Christmas Eve morn' in 1917, the battalion was set to 'go over the top.' At that time our company had seen very little action. Everyone, even with a scrap of sense, was as scared as they had ever been in their life. Then just as our captain was about to blow his whistle to sound the charge, our company phone rang. The news was grand, and it rippled through the trenches from one thankful doughboy to another. For the charge had been called off. The cheers went up all down the line, and then we saw 'her' in the mist. In that early morning haze, rising through the eastern sky, we beheld the face of the Virgin Mary rising up over that dreadful battlefield. Now some of you may not believe me, but I tell you - that day she was smiling down upon us. And I can tell you that any of us who'd not been saved, were speedily converted that misty dawn. Through the haze of that blessed sunrise she had delivered us all from a terrible fate.

"So at church that day, I felt compelled to speak directly to that youthful lad. So I said, 'Son, don't tell me that there are no more miracles. I and all my mates in the battalion assuredly experienced one that holy morning that cold day before Christmas. And son, I can tell you that every solider present that day knew he'd seen one, too.

"Folks, I can assure you, miracles do happen; and they happen all the time. It's just that we don't seem to take occasion to notice them anymore."

Then he gathered himself up, standing at rigid attention and he simply said: "Now my friends please join me in prayer."

We all bowed our little heads- and his prayer and the genuine meaning of Christmas shot through us kids like a bolt of red-hot light.

Then, in a flurry, our scrumptious dinner was served. Roast bird and brazed beast came in torrents from the kitchen. Stuffing and sauteed vegetables spilled from the bowls into our waiting plates. The taste of cranberry sprang up and licked our waiting lips; and the pungent smell of the warm rolls tickled and delighted each child's tiny nostrils.

Then it was Santa's turn. His huge girth moved as if he were a tiny-nimble elf as he passed gifts around the table. I don't remember what I received that night, but I do remember what happened next. My Grandfather Binford rose and spoke. "Now children, you have a better understanding of the meaning of Christmas. At Christmas time we Christians celebrate the birth of our Lord and savior. Now turn your serving dishes over and see the gift The Binford Brotherhood has provided for each of you. Enjoy your gift, but pray do not ever forget the true meaning of Christmas."

We children scrambled to clear the reams of gift wrappings and get to the polished dish below. And there, low and behold, each child discovered a shiny new $10 gold piece.

That night, each of the children present at The Binford Brotherhood banquet was thunderstruck with joy but -more importantly - we then truly understood the profound meaning of the celebration we call Christmas. That frosty night, the winter of 1950 was the finest Christmas of my long and memorable life.

So I wish to you all a Merry Christmas! And God bless us every one!