Humor 12/7/98: A Sign of the 90's

Hey,

I hope things are going well for you. I have one more week of classes
to go, and then it's a week of finals. I'm definitely looking forward
to the end of the quarter. I'll be here in LA until January 3rd, so let
me know if you'll be in town. After that, I'll be in Silicon
Valley/S.F. for a week.

This week's humor was forwarded by Anna Man, followed by an
inspirational piece forwarded by Ethel Lai. In this hectic, busy
Christmas season, I hope that you will not lose sight of the true
meaning of Christmas. Enjoy!

-Josh.
___________________________________________

SIGNS YOU HAVE HAD TOO MUCH OF THE 90s

1. Your reason for not staying in touch with family is that they do not
have email addresses.

2. If you can't order it by midnight and have it delivered by noon the
next day, it is just too slow.

3. Your Stockbroker's name ends in ".com"

4. A Blind date means chatting online with someone you haven't met
before.

5. Keeping up with sports means having your favorite sports teams as
Bookmarks

6. Most of your books are bought online. "Real world" bookstores are now
prized as your favorite cafe to hang out, work and meet people of the
opposite sex.

7. Your food in the refrigerator has been there so long some, that you
have received a grant from the National Institute for Health to do germ
research.

8. You lecture the neighborhood kids selling lemonade on ways to improve
their efficiency

9. You get all excited when it's Saturday and you can wear sweats to
work.

10. You find you really need Power Point to explain what kind of work
you do.

11. You normally eat out of vending machines and at the most expensive
restaurant in town within the same week.

12. You apologize to your friends who didn't get holiday cards from you.
"Sorry, I only sent "email cards" this year, you just didn't make the
cut"

13. You think a "half-day" means leaving at 5 o'clock.

14. You get most of your jokes via email instead of in person.
_________________________________

It's just a small, white envelope stuck among the branches of our
Christmas tree. No name, no identification, no inscription. It has
peeked through the branches of our tree for the past 10 years or so.

It all began because my husband Mike hated Christmas --- oh, not the
true meaning of Christmas, but the commercial aspects of
it-overspending... the frantic running around at the last minute to get
a tie for Uncle Harry and the dusting powder for Grandma --- the gifts
given in desperation because you couldn't think of anything else.

Knowing he felt this way, I decided one year to bypass the usual shirts,
sweaters, ties and so forth. I reached for something special just for
Mike. The inspiration came in an unusual way. Our son Kevin, who was 12
that year, was wrestling at the junior level at the school he attended;
and shortly before Christmas, there was a non-league match against a
team sponsored by an inner-city church, mostly black. These youngsters,
dressed in sneakers so ragged that shoestrings seemed to be the only
thing holding them together, presented a sharp contrast to our boys in
their spiffy blue and gold uniforms and sparkling new wrestling shoes.
As the match began, I was alarmed to see that the other team was
wrestling without headgear, a kind of light helmet designed to protect a
wrestler's ears. It was a luxury the ragtag team
obviously could not afford. Well, we ended up walloping them.

We took every weight class. And as each of their boys got up from the
mat, he swaggered around in his tatters with false bravado, a kind of
street pride that couldn't acknowledge defeat. Mike, seated beside me,
shook his head sadly, "I wish just one of them could have won," he said.
"They have a lot of potential, but losing like this could take the heart
right out of them."

Mike loved kids-all kids-and he knew them, having coached little league
football, baseball and lacrosse. That's when the idea for his present
came. That afternoon, I went to a local sporting goods store and bought
an assortment of wrestling headgear and shoes and sent them anonymously
to the inner-city church. On Christmas Eve, I placed the envelope on
the tree, the note inside telling Mike what I had done and that this was
his gift from me.

His smile was the brightest thing about Christmas that year and in
succeeding years. For each Christmas, I followed the tradition---one
year sending a group of mentally handicapped youngsters to a hockey
game, another year a check to a pair of elderly brothers whose home had
burned to the ground the week before Christmas, and on and on.

The envelope became the highlight of our Christmas. It was always the
last thing opened on Christmas morning and our children, ignoring their
new toys, would stand with wide-eyed anticipation as their dad lifted
the envelope from the tree to reveal its contents.

As the children grew, the toys gave way to more practical presents, but
the envelope never lost its allure. The story doesn't end there. You
see, we lost Mike last year due to dreaded cancer. When Christmas
rolled around, I was still so wrapped in grief that I barely got the
tree up. But Christmas Eve found me placing an envelope on the tree,
and in the morning, it was joined by three more.

Each of our children, unbeknownst to the others, had placed an envelope
on the tree for their dad. The tradition has grown and someday will
expand even further with our grandchildren standing around the tree with
wide-eyed anticipation watching as their fathers take down the envelope.

Mike's spirit, like the Christmas spirit, will always be with us.

May we all remember Christ, who is the reason for the season, and the
true Christmas spirit this year and always.

God bless---pass this along to your friends and loved ones.
--
_____________________________________

Joshua Li
431 S. Burnside Ave. #12 B
Los Angeles CA 90036
(323)936-8476
Permanent Email: joshli@post.harvard.edu
http://personal.anderson.ucla.edu/joshua.li/